


Intertwined

by Legendgrass



Category: Avatar: Legend of Korra, She-Ra and the Princesses of Power (2018)
Genre: Adora isn't the Avatar, Alcohol Abuse/Alcoholism, Aliases, Alternate Universe, Angst, Avatar: The Last Airbender Universe, Avatar: The Legend of Korra universe, Bending (Avatar), Classism, Drama, Drug Abuse, Drug Use, Equalists (Avatar), Eventual Happy Ending, Everyone Has Issues, F/F, Fan Lore, Fate & Destiny, Gritty, Implied/Referenced Self-Harm, Language, Poverty, Republic City sucks, Slow Burn, Spirits, brawler Adora, factory worker Catra, gritty Republic City
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-02-29
Updated: 2020-05-09
Packaged: 2021-02-28 05:53:33
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 17
Words: 82,937
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22948879
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Legendgrass/pseuds/Legendgrass
Summary: Catra is a struggling factory worker who can't meet her quota without a hit every morning. Mara is a stunning stranger running from a murky past. Once their paths cross, they might not be able to untangle them again.Avatar: The Legend of Korra AU
Relationships: Adora/Catra (She-Ra)
Comments: 188
Kudos: 389





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Me: I'm not a big fan of crossovers  
> Also me: writes this
> 
> This is outside of my usual comfort zone in that it deals with some dark/gritty/real themes. I will say that I don't have personal experience with most of these themes so my interpretations of them may be inaccurate, overly influenced by mainstream perceptions/stereotypes, exaggerated for the sake of the story, or just plain wrong. However I have done research on and collected firsthand accounts from people who have dealt with them, so I hope nothing is too grossly misrepresented. Just please take things with a grain of salt knowing it is fiction after all.
> 
> All tws should be in the tags.

Catra tore off her chest plate and uniform as fast as humanly possible once the whistle blew to mark the end of her shift.

She was one of a few who opted to wear the ugly gray jumpsuit over her street clothes, because she only had one tunic and she wasn’t about to ruin it with electrical burns, but it wasn’t required. The only dress code that management forced upon her was a ban against her ear piercings, which Catra hated, so just to spite her uppers she always left her rumpled jumpsuit unbuttoned scandalously low at the collar. There was technically no rule against that, so all her overseer could do was scowl and fume. Catra milked that for all the satisfaction she could get. 

The rest of the job sucked.

Fueling the Republic City Power Plant was draining, especially on the rough days when her mind wasn’t in the right place and the lightning didn’t want to come. That was most days, unless she’d had a hit of má in the morning. The leaf always helped her sink someplace where balance was easy to find and her breath and her chi flowed like water.

Or at least, that’s what she told herself. She was still only one fuckup away from losing her job.

It was the system, really. Employers were suspicious of those who had nothing. Like somehow they must have earned a life of bare feet and cold street corners and bread crusts for every meal. Like Catra wouldn’t have traded her life for anyone else’s in a second.

Every time she was late it was counted against her twice as much as the next worker. Every time her output didn’t meet the daily quota they put a mark in her file as if the jerk next to her hadn’t made the same. Every time someone picked a fight with her in the lockers after work, they spun it so it was her fault.

It was because of the chief manager, Weaver, she knew. That woman was the biggest bigot of them all. Every time inspections came around, she paid special attention to Catra with her hawkish green eyes, just waiting for an excuse to pin the sins of the world on her. If she had her way, Catra would be out on her ass with her record smeared in black, no hope of ever landing a job again. Since day one Weaver had picked her out as prey and made every effort to make her life more hellish than it already was. It didn’t matter why. It just was. Just like the rest of the shitty world.

Catra had no choice but to keep her head down and devote what energy she could to her job, delaying Weaver’s intended fate for as long as possible. It was too bad her wage didn’t pay enough to allow her a real place to sleep. It was all she could do to collect her daily bowl of noodles from the dive down the street and single bag of má to sustain her before her money went virtually dry again. She’d tried saving up for a while, but once a local triadier decided he needed her cash more than she did and pried the whole stack off her beaten body, she decided it wasn’t worth the risk. 

What was there to save for, anyway? Who was going to sell anything to her, a ratty street orphan with permanently skinned elbows and a dirt-decorated face? It seemed that as soon as she approached a hawker’s booth his prices mysteriously doubled, and she was out of a deal. Forget entering a real shop; they didn’t want her bare feet dirtying up their floors. The only places that allowed her in were bound to drag her life deeper into a ditch rather than improve it. The old drug den that she’d come to call home was evidence enough of that.

The one exception was Loo-Kee. The noodle shop was owned by a stooped old woman named Razz with a face carved like tree bark. Her hair was silver as the moon and her eyes looked much too sharp for her age when they peered into Catra's, scrutinizing the mismatched orbs like she could see right into the soul beneath. Catra was convinced she was touched, if not by the spirits then by insanity, but it didn’t matter to her. Razz gave her a meal every day. Razz gave her a safe place to sit down and rest without judgment, so she didn’t care in the slightest whether the woman was crazy, magic, or anything in between.

Catra was headed there now. Her feet knew the path, so her mind could safely wander during the trip, drifting slightly in the wake of today’s má. 

The neat cobbles of the industrial district gave way to cracked, grimy earth as she walked farther and farther into the city’s heart. Here, buildings were old and sagging, and the doorways were dark and threatening. Any one was as likely to hold a greedy thug as it was a family crest. She knew from experience.

The air smelled like automobile fuel and smoke—both coal and má. The closer she got to her destination, though, the more a third scent worked its way into the atmosphere—one more pleasant than the hallmarks of inner Republic City. She followed it down the twists and turns of cramped alleyways, up the three crooked stairs by the abandoned junk shop, and around a bend that collected trash like the upper class collected funds. There, at the end of the street, stood Razz’s domain. Catra hurried the last distance to its door and pushed inside, eager to be out of the permanent chill of the mid-north.

The smell she’d followed through the streets was much stronger in here, and she breathed it in like a hit of leaf. Razz’s noodles and dumplings were unparalleled—at least as far as Catra knew—and the scent of them was enough to make her mouth water. She hugged herself as the cozy atmosphere chased the last of the chill out of her and crossed the uneven flagstones to the counter. Razz was there, silver hair a mess, spectacles thick as her turtle duck stew.

“Why, hello there, dearie,” she greeted Catra. She rarely used the girl’s name, even though she was fully aware of it. “What’ll it be tonight?”

Catra smiled for the first time today and ignored the pang in her cheeks at the unfamiliar exertion. She remembered vaguely that Razz had once told her smiling was just as remedial as medicine. “Just the usual, Razz. Thanks,” she said, placing a handful of today’s wage on the counter, and her voice too was creaky from disuse. She always got the same thing: a bowl of plain boiled noodles (the cheapest thing on the menu) but Razz always asked anyway. It didn’t bother Catra. It rather comforted her, as familiar routine generally did.

This time, however, Razz clucked her tongue before disappearing into the kitchen and responded, “No, I think you need something special tonight, dearie.”

Catra wondered what that comment meant until Razz reemerged with her noodles and she saw that she had slipped her a bottle of baijiu on the side, free of charge. Catra sighed, but she was long past complaining over handouts, so she just accepted both with an appreciative murmur in Razz’s direction and retreated to her favorite two-person booth that ever only sat one, nestled in the back corner. The alcohol would help numb her to the world in place of má for a while, at least.

She dug into her noodles and didn’t look up until she’d worked her way through the bowl, as she preferred not to risk eye contact with strangers. It was safer that way. Plus the noodles were remarkable—even though they were marked on the menu as plain, she suspected Razz may have spared hers some extra seasoning.

After she’d polished off her single meal of the day, she cracked open her baijiu and brought the bottle to her lips, settling into the corner of her booth in preparation to while away the evening.

That was when a flash of motion behind the counter caught her eye.

It wasn’t Razz. It was a girl, tall and fit, carrying out a steaming row of dishes from the kitchen. Catra's brow furrowed—not because the girl was unfairly attractive, although she was—but because Razz usually ran the place alone. Scratch that—she’d _always_ run the place alone.

Catra absently swished around her mouthful of baijiu, letting it burn her tongue as she studied the stranger across the room.

Had this girl been working behind the scenes the whole time and Catra had just not known it? Was she a relative of Razz’s, visiting from out of town? Was Razz getting old enough to need a new hire to share the load?

All Catra knew was that she had never seen this girl before. She would have remembered. 

Once she got past the initial shock of confusion, another one hit her hard as her eyes caught more intently on the girl’s appearance. For one thing, her eyes sparkled gray-blue, which didn’t make sense coupled with her earth-toned outfit, but that was the least intriguing part. Her hair was gold as the sun.

No one had hair that color. The only deviations from the normal black and brown and odd auburn were the grays and whites of age. Was it dyed? Catra squinted for a better look as the girl passed back through the swinging door into the kitchen. Her hair glinted like silk under the lights.

No, it couldn’t be.

Catra harrumphed softly to herself and rested her chin on her fist. She normally hated things she didn’t understand (it was a good defense mechanism), but at the same time she found it hard to hate this strange beauty suddenly existing under the same roof as her. 

Was she hallucinating? She shouldn’t be, not this long after her last hit. This girl and her sunny coloring had to be real. Catra just hadn’t ever seen anything like it.

As the girl did her rounds to and from the kitchen, Catra couldn’t help but watch her for the time it took to empty her bottle of baijiu. Her unexplained appearance was the highlight of Catra's day—her week—no, the longest span of time she could remember. 

Who was this girl? Where had she come from and why had Razz hired her on when she was fully capable of keeping up the place herself? Why did her hair glow like the sun?

Catra couldn’t take her eyes off of it.

She wasn’t as accustomed to alcohol as she was to leaf, and the baijiu was hitting her system solidly. Her fingertips tingled, and the rest of her felt warm. Her eyelids drooped. Her gaze stayed on that girl, mind swimming in endless circles around the mystery of her identity as her awareness narrowed to that pretty face and that glinting hair.

It may have been her imagination, but the girl seemed to pass by closer and closer to her table as the evening matured into night. She didn’t bus Catra's empty noodle bowl, Razz did—had the old woman winked at her as she collected the old ceramic, or was that a trick of the light?—and now there was no reason to attend to her, but her route seemed to take her by Catra's lonely table anyway.

The urge to say something to her started as an easily ignored tickle in the background of Catra's thoughts. The longer she sat, though, and the more baijiu soaked into her bloodstream, the more that feeling grew into a nag and then a prod and then a pressing desire at the forefront of her mind. Her lips twitched every time the girl got near, but the truth was she had no idea what to say. She would more likely make a fool of herself than make any positive impression on the beautiful stranger.

But she just couldn’t quiet the nagging.

She considered leaving just to remove the temptation, but wandering the streets at night, buzzed, was more of a death wish than she was feeling today. So Catra stayed, and stared, and waited. For what, she did not know. She laid her chin on her forearms and prepared for it to make itself clear to her.

Time slipped away like sand through her fingers.

Catra didn’t realize she’d drifted into a sort of trance until she lurched suddenly, startled out of it by the loud clearing of a throat next to her. She jerked her head up with a gasp and found herself face to face with the mystery girl herself—which knocked the rest of the air out of her. She was even more striking up close: strong jawline, graceful dark eyebrows and eyelashes. Catra's mouth hung open, searching for words that would not come. Her mind was reeling and the alcohol did not help her steady it. Her instincts took the lead and she choked out a single, eloquent sound:

“Uh.”

The girl rolled her eyes toward the patterned ceiling and huffed in exasperation. Was she mad? At Catra? What had Catra done? Thankfully, she didn’t have to flounder in confusion long. “Why have you been staring at me all night?” the stranger demanded, dropping those blue-gray eyes to burn into Catra's own.

A rush of guilt and dread replaced her alcohol-induced warmth with icy cold. Had she already screwed things up without even trying? Wouldn’t be the first time.

She found her voice to rasp in weak defense, “Sorry. I…I’ve never seen hair that color before.”

The girl laughed once, mirthlessly. “People say the spirits must have marked me when I was young,” she explained shortly, in the manner of one who had to do so often. She crossed her arms across her chest in a gesture Catra recognized as insecure—because she did it, too. Her heart ached in unexpected sympathy. “Too bad they’re wrong.”

Honestly, it was more answer than Catra had expected. She was surprised that the girl was bothering to engage her in conversation at all after she’d apparently just sat there and gawked at her all night. A fleeting notion made her wonder if Razz somehow had something to do with it, but regardless, she didn’t want to let the opportunity go to waste so she replied, “I heard of an old Water Tribe princess who had that happen. Turned her hair white. I don’t believe it, though.” If Catra's senses hadn’t been dulled as they were, she might have interpreted the girl’s following silence as disapproval, but right now it just seemed like the perfect opening to smooth over her awkward first impression with witty comment. So, “You some kind of princess, too?” she drawled, chancing a crooked little smile.

“I wouldn’t know,” the girl said. She didn’t smile back. In fact, she turned to leave Catra alone again.

That possibility sent a wave of irrational panic surging through Catra's buzzed system and she shot out a hand to grasp her wrist without thinking. “Wait!”

The girl turned back, startled, and Catra was left not knowing what to say into the fearful silence she’d created. But her eyes were still on the girl’s shining hair, and slowly something occurred to her. “You…” She looked down at where her fingers were closed around the girl’s warm wrist and hastily released it. _Way to scare her off even more, Catra._ “You might want to cover it,” she said. She lowered her gaze further, a habit learned from a lifetime of compulsory shame. “People here don’t take kindly to outsiders.”

There was a long silence during which Catra was afraid to raise her eyes. Afraid of what she would find on the girl’s face. But even with head bowed she could see the girl cradling the wrist she’d grasped with her other hand, and her guilt deepened as she figured she’d offended her.

But the stranger didn’t walk away immediately. She didn’t even move. She just stood there, and after a while Catra could not bear the anxiety of not knowing what was going to happen next. She raised her head.

When her mismatched irises locked with blue-gray, what she found in the other girl’s eyes was not offense or disgust, but a searching kind of curiosity. The way she held her wrist was oddly reflective.

_What?_ Catra wanted to ask, but she didn’t want to break the girl out of…whatever this moment was, because it didn’t seem wholly bad. In fact, it seemed poignant somehow. So she just held that outlandish gaze until answers were due—or until the girl walked away.

Finally the girl opened her mouth, and Catra's breath caught in anticipation.

“Razz was right about you.”

Before Catra could ask what that meant, the girl backed away and turned to vanish into the kitchen.

… 

They saw each other often after that. It was bound to happen, seeing as the sun-haired girl apparently worked at Loo-Kee every day of the week now and Catra was a regular, but to Catra it felt like fate. She just wasn’t sure yet if it was the cruel kind or the favorable one.

The first time she shuffled into the shop after meeting the mysterious girl, she found her serving tables on the far side of the room, her back to Catra. She might not have recognized her if it weren’t for the unique squareness of her shoulders, the straightness of her back, the quiet power that she seemed to possess like an aura—because her golden hair was hidden beneath a brimless cloth hat.

Catra had to stop and stare, quite honestly floored. 

The girl had listened to her. No one _ever_ listened to her.

Granted, the loss of the sunny glint of the girl’s hair felt like snuffing out a candle prematurely, but at the same time, it brought much less attention to her. It made it much less likely for a passing triadier or flesh trader to notice her and cause all the grief that happened next. It let her blend in, and blending in in the heart of Republic City meant safety.

She must have felt the heat of Catra’s stare, because she turned suddenly and their eyes met. Catra jumped guiltily and moved toward the counter like she hadn’t just been standing in the doorway for the past thirty seconds, dropping her gaze to the floor.

As she waited for Razz to emerge to take her order, she couldn’t help but slide another glance in the girl’s direction. It was as if something pulled her. 

The girl was still looking at her. When they locked eyes again, her pale face brightened in a small smile. She reached up and touched the edge of her hat like a greeting. Or a salute.

Catra’s heart stumbled. Not only was this the first time someone had taken her at her word in forever, but—that was the first time the girl had smiled at her. 

Catra bit her lip and tried not to look too pleased. She didn’t need a crush. Feelings were nothing but a path to a wounded heart, and she’d been wounded enough.

Razz came to take her order, offering her a welcome diversion from the woman on the other side of the room. Catra breathed a sigh, leaning her chin on her fist as she waited on her noodles.

She couldn’t help one more look in the girl’s direction, hungry for the new warmth in her blue-gray eyes.

…

Their interaction for the next few weeks was limited to passing looks as the sun-haired girl did her rounds and Catra spent her wages and loitered in Loo-Kee’s back corner. Catra didn’t know what it meant every time their eyes seemed to catch on one another’s. She blamed the baijiu she often paired with her meal, or the flash of gold that escaped from under the now ever-present hat before it was tucked away, or the fact that she liked routine and the girl’s arrival had put a wrinkle in hers.

It was _not_ because she liked her.

Razz noticed, of course, as she noticed everything.

At first she did nothing but wait and watch, scrutinizing the two girls with those piercing dark eyes as they circled each other without ever actually touching. Staring into their souls like she always seemed to.

It had been a particularly bad day for Catra when Razz finally decided to make her move. As the brunette collected her usual and slouched toward her corner, she heard the old woman raise her voice behind her, obviously intending for her to hear. “Mara, dearie,” she called, and Catra jolted. Was that the girl’s name? “Tonight’s crowd will be light. Why don’t you take the rest of the evening off?”

“Oh, Razz, I couldn’t.” That was her voice, all right. Catra tried to keep her shoulders from tensing and her heart from picking up. “It’s a Friday. Don’t things usually—”

“Nonsense, dearie. There are more important things for you to do tonight,” Razz replied cryptically. There was the sound of straw rustling against itself, and then a soft _thwack_. “Shoo, shoo! The spirits have spoken.” There was a sound of protest from the—from Mara, but another _thwack_ followed it and Catra swore it was the sound of a broom hitting something solid. She tried not to look back, afraid she might not be able to stop. 

Afraid that Razz might mean what Catra thought she did.

She kept her eyes on her bowl until she was safely tucked into her corner booth. As soon as she dared raise them, though, her heart stopped.

Mara was approaching her table.

Catra wasn’t sure whether to watch her or ignore her and hope she went away or do something horrible like _smile_ at her, so she just clenched her jaw and waited for her to make the first move.

The girl stopped by her table and clasped her hands awkwardly in front of her. When Catra didn’t acknowledge her, she cleared her throat and asked in a meek voice, “Can I sit?”

Catra finally looked up at her—she hated having to look up at people—keeping her face carefully neutral. She figured this was the culmination of Razz’s plot, and she was smart enough to pay the woman’s words some heed when she cited supernatural powers, so she resisted the urge to tell this pretty, dangerous girl to fuck off. Instead she shrugged and said, “Didn’t you hear her? The spirits have spoken.” Whether those spirits were actual beings or just Razz’s excuse to throw them together was anybody’s guess, but Catra had rather play it safe.

Mara hesitated, evidently not knowing if that was an invitation or a dismissal, so Catra sighed and motioned to the seat across from her that had never been filled as long as she’d been a patron.

The girl released a breath as if she’d been holding it and sat down quickly, like Catra might change her mind if she dallied too long.

The sight of another person across from her hit Catra almost as hard as the fact that it was Mara, the mysterious pale beauty. She found it hard to breathe for a moment. Her disinterested façade cracked under the pressure of her pounding heart.

She took her turn to clear her throat as blue-gray eyes threatened to render her speechless. 

“Mara, huh?” was what came out.

“No,” replied the girl carefully, chewing her lower lip. “Not actually. That’s just the name I use.”

“Oh,” Catra replied dully, disappointed that she hadn’t actually made any progress in untangling this girl’s intrigue. If anything, it had just gotten even more convoluted. Then as an awkward silence ensued, she figured a simple ‘oh’ was a poor way to keep a conversation going, so she went on: “What is it, actually?”

Instead of answering directly, not-Mara shifted in her seat and raised an absent hand to make sure her sunny hair was tucked under her hat. There was a shadow behind her eyes, like she was dwelling on something painful, but she didn’t break Catra's gaze. Not yet. If anything, it intensified. She licked her lips before admitting, “I was once told never to share it except with someone I trust completely.”

Catra was equal parts interested and intimidated by that answer coupled with not-Mara’s look. She covered her discomfort by asking wryly, “Oh? Who’s that? So I can go ask them.”

The girl’s lips curled in a smile, but a regretful one. “I haven’t found them yet.”

“Oh,” Catra murmured. She didn’t know if that answer made her feel better or worse. She tilted her head curiously. “So, why so mysterious? Why would you have to hide your name?”

“For my own protection.” It came out quickly, like it was a practiced response. Or a lie. Then the girl shrugged, seemed to backtrack, and offered, “Mara is fine anyway.”

Catra narrowed her eyes. There was no way she was telling the truth. Right? But Mara—no—yes (what else could Catra call her but ‘the girl?’)—her face remained open and smooth, lacking any tells to a lie. Catra, against all her worldly instincts, felt inclined to believe her.

She also noticed the tightness in her strong shoulders and recognized it as a sign of wariness, like maybe this was a tender subject. Catra could understand that. So after a pause, she switched tack, just to make things less awkward. _Not_ because she liked this girl.

“What did you mean when you said Razz was right about me?” she asked.

The tension noticeably slipped from Mara’s body as the conversation changed. Then it returned somewhat and she rested her hand on the table to pick at the grain of the worn wood with one stubby fingernail. “She said, uh…” Her eyes were now locked on her idle task, avoiding Catra's. “She said that you were rough around the edges, but that deep down you care.”

Catra started uncomfortably. Was Razz onto her? Onto the feelings she wasn’t even letting herself consider? How would Razz even know? 

Praying the heat flooding her skin didn’t show on her face, Catra asked in genuine confusion, “About you?”

Mara redoubled her efforts on the tabletop. “I—I don’t know. You don’t even know me,” she mumbled. She appeared a little flustered for some reason. Pink tinged her cheekbones. Had it been there before? “Just in general, I guess.”

“Why was Razz talking to you about me?”

The girl shrugged and looked away, but her eyes remained down like she was hiding something. Catra was eaten up with curiosity as to what it could be, but she didn’t press. She was more concerned with voicing a more important question:

“How would she even know?”

“She said you’re a regular,” Mara supplied vaguely.

“I just eat here.”

She shrugged again helplessly. “I don’t know. Razz just seems to…know things.”

“Yeah,” Catra said softly, trailing off as her attention turned inward. Maybe there was more to that soul-searching look of Razz’s than Catra had given her credit for. A memory came back to her, half-formed: Razz saying Catra needed something ‘special’ the other night, then winking at her as she cleared away her bowl. Not long before the girl came to confront her at her table. Was that when she’d shared her judgment of Catra with this sun-haired girl? Again Catra had to wonder how much of their meeting Razz had influenced in her odd, maybe supernatural way.

She refocused on the girl in front of her as a thought hit her, zeroing in on those blue eyes intently. The other girl stiffened, as if expecting a threat, but Catra just leaned forward and inquired, “What do you think Razz would tell me about you?”

Mara’s eyebrows shot up, apparently caught off guard. “I—” She broke off and chuckled once; a hollow sound. “Probably not much. _I_ don’t even know much about me.”

Catra tried to understand what that could mean and failed utterly. Her mind kept coming back around to one question, so she settled on that. “So you don’t know why your hair is that color, huh? Where are you from?”

Again, the empty laugh. “Nowhere.”

“No family?”

The way the girl flinched made Catra think that she should have been gentler with that question, but she wasn’t in the habit of tiptoeing around people’s feelings. Not when hers were so often dashed to the side like garbage. _Rough around the edges,_ occurred to her in Razz’s voice, and she felt her ears heat up in guilt. She could have apologized, but the words stuck in her throat.

“No,” Mara croaked, staring at the tabletop.

Catra couldn’t manage a real apology, but she tried to make her next words sound like one; low and sympathetic: “Me neither.”

Mara seemed to understand. She raised her eyes finally, contemplatively. “Where are _you_ from?” she asked, those blue-gray irises pinning Catra's soul.

Catra wished they wouldn’t. She gave a shrug. “My earliest memories are of these streets.”

“You’ve lived on the streets, _alone_ , for as long as you can remember?” Mara blurted in shock.

Catra bristled, her brows lowering as the familiar heat of defensiveness licked up her throat. “That’s what I said, isn’t it?” She’d thought their attempt at connection was going fine, if a little heavy, but was this girl just going to judge her like everyone else? Was she going to shunt her aside because of something she couldn’t help, like everyone else? Was she going to—

“Hey.” A hand on her forearm jerked Catra out of her spiral. Her eyes flashed down to it instinctively and then back up at Mara, and the sharpness in her eyes was enough for the girl to retract it nervously. “I’m sorry,” she said. “I didn’t mean anything bad by that. I just…” she shook her head in something like disbelief, and her eyes softened as she regarded Catra as if for the first time. It was a familiar look. One of realization. One of reassessment. One of _pity._ “I’m so sorry.”

Catra frowned and looked away. Pity wasn’t something she’d ever coveted. It was useless; just like apologies. Just like well-wishes. They didn’t fill her belly or put clothes on her back. _She_ was the one who had to do that. “I manage,” she said shortly, suddenly ready to be done with this conversation. Regretting spilling anything about her life in the first place. Feeling like maybe this girl wasn’t as radiant as she’d first thought. Maybe she was just like everyone else. 

She made herself busy collecting their empty bowls, fully intending to get up and bus them as an excuse to leave.

Mara was apparently so wrapped up in her concern that she either didn’t notice or didn’t care that she was prodding an open wound. “Aren’t you awfully lonely?” she asked, those blue-gray eyes _infuriatingly_ tender.

“I don’t suppose you’re offering to join me, are you?” Catra snapped, pushing up from her chair so fast it rocked back and nearly fell. When the girl’s mouth fell open she cut her off swiftly. “That’s fine,” —in a voice that clearly said that it wasn’t— “I wouldn’t expect you to. No one ever wants to. Who would ever give up their _perfect_ little life to live like a street rat?” She picked up their empty dishes and stepped over to shove them onto Razz’s counter, feeling only a little bad when they clattered together loudly. She knew she was making a scene, but she was so pissed she didn’t care at this point. “Who would ever give a second thought to somebody like me? _No one._ ” She returned to their table only to slam her fists down on its surface, leaning on them to get right in the gold-haired girl’s face and snarl so close it ruffled her stray hairs, “So _stop pretending you care._ ”

Once she got over her initial shock, Mara’s face remained impressively calm, although Catra was close enough to see her jaw clenching and the sparks flying from her blue-gray eyes. For a long moment she said nothing, and the only sound between them—in the whole place, probably—was Catra's ragged, angry breathing. When the girl finally, slowly, stood up and crossed her arms over her chest, she loomed like a disapproving statue a few inches taller than Catra. 

Catra couldn’t help but shrink a bit under her burning stare, too used to what usually followed. But Maral didn’t lash out. All she said, through a tight, twitching jaw, was, “Perfect little life, huh? Meet me at the corner of Pao and 2nd tomorrow night.”

Then she laid a pair of coins on their table as a tip, turned on her heel, and left.

Catra was left in the wake of her own destruction, staring after that powerful figure until it disappeared out the door and into the night, wondering if she’d just stuck her foot in the first good thing to happen to her for as long as she could remember.

... 


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for the kind feedback on the first chapter! It's encouraging, especially since I was on the fence about posting this one

Catra went to the corner of Pao and 2nd the next night. What else could she do? After losing her temper at Mara-not-Mara and watching her departing back for what she feared might be the last time, she’d been overwhelmed with guilt. At first, their conversation had been fine—strange, confusing, and full of holes where one of them or the other was too guarded to elaborate, but intriguing regardless—and then she’d forfeit all that because of a single unintended barb. She’d pissed off someone who had taken her advice, sought out her company, and even blushed sometimes at the things Catra said; generally hallmarks of someone who might actually be interested in getting to know her. All because she was so aggressively independent that she couldn’t stand the prospect of pity.

Once she’d had time to review her behavior in hindsight, she figured that hadn’t really been fair to Mara.

Plus, if the flames in the other girl’s eyes when she invited Catra here were anything to judge by, Catra's accusations probably weren’t even accurate.

That and the condition of the cramped, filthy, pitch-black streets she’d followed to get here: the seediest, most ancient part of the city. The leaning structures around her certainly looked like they had received no care for decades. No one came to this part of town unless they were looking for trouble or trouble was looking for them.

Catra wondered which category Mara fell into. 

Her curiosity (and instinctual dread) grew with every step she took deeper into the nest of darkness and danger. She wondered, briefly, if Mara was so angry that she’d just lured Catra here to shank her on the spot.

For once though, she was tempted to give the benefit of the doubt.

She hoped it wouldn’t be the death of her.

She’d find out shortly, she thought as she came around a corner and spotted Mara’s silhouette in the dim glow of a storefront sign reading _closed._ Her heartbeat picked up immediately, and the pit of dread in her gut yawned wider at the sight of those square shoulders; that flash of gold hair beneath that shapeless hat. She wondered with a pang whether Mara’s decision to keep wearing it was meant to make her guilty.

As much as her nerves were singing for her to _run_ , something kept her feet moving forward toward that familiar shape.

Mara couldn’t have heard her approach, but she still turned as Catra crossed the final street to her haunt, padding over to enter the circle of dim red light with her. Those blue-gray eyes seemed drawn to her—maybe by fate, or maybe just because she was surprised Catra had come.

They stayed on her, silent and searching, as Catra stopped a safe distance away and eyed the storefront they were facing. The light of the electric sign shone in through the gaping windows, and Catra could see well enough to determine that the shelves within were virtually empty. This must have been a front, just like most of the other holes in the wall around this part of town. She wondered what for.

Mara still wasn’t speaking; just watching, so Catra cleared her throat uncomfortably into the heavy nighttime silence and dared to meet that gaze. “I didn’t take you for the type to brave the heart of Old Republic City at night,” she ventured quietly.

“Shows what you know.” Mara’s eyes didn’t soften a fraction.

Something in Catra's chest withered. Here she was to either offer an olive branch or let this girl shank her, and all she got in return was stonewalled. Her first instinct was to sink into defensive anger, but then she remembered that that was what had gotten her into this awkward treatment in the first place and forced the tension out of her shoulders. 

“What’s in that?” she mumbled instead, gesturing to the grayish duffel bag hanging by Mara’s leg.

“You’ll see,” she responded, still short and clipped, but she tilted her chin toward the closed establishment beside her and led Catra inside.

Better than being shanked, Catra supposed, trailing after into the dank interior of the dark store. Looking around, she realized that she couldn’t identify any of the few shelved objects in the dark, but she didn’t have much time to sate her curiosity before Mara was leading her briskly toward the back counter. They rounded it, tracked to a door labeled _employees only_ , and headed through to come upon a narrow wooden staircase leading down.

Mara continued on, and Catra stepped lightly as she descended, wary of the old wood giving her splinters in her soles. She watched Mara’s back to keep oriented in the dark space and clung to the rusty metal railing as her anxiety rose. _Where_ was Mara taking her?

She was so preoccupied that she didn’t notice the other girl hop to the landing from a few stairs up, avoiding putting weight on the last ones. Mara turned back to wait for her as she crossed the final distance. Her eyes widened as Catra came close to the bottom. Too late, she cried, “Watch out for—”

_Crash!_

The world dropped out from beneath Catra's feet, and she plunged down with a strangled-off cry that was lost beneath the sound of breaking wood. Her vision spun in the darkness and she couldn’t catch her balance because she didn’t know which way was up, but she was sure her falling body would end up face-first on the stones if—

Strong hands caught her.

The warmth was what shocked her first, followed by the abruptness of suddenly having her feet again. Then she realized that she was clutching onto something vaguely soft and jerked back immediately.

She thought she could see the shine of wry blue-gray eyes in the dim.

“—the last step. There’s a hole,” Mara finished unhelpfully, and Catra could _hear_ the smirk in her voice.

She huffed and brushed herself off furiously. Just what she needed—to embarrass herself in front of someone she still wasn’t sure whether she hated or hated her. In enemy territory, no less. She still had no idea what she was walking— _f_ _alling_ —into. 

“No shit,” she grumbled sourly.

Mara almost chuckled before she pushed through a door at the landing, throwing an orangey light over the dirt floor—still dim, like it was coming from a distance.

“Come on.”

She passed through, leaving Catra with no choice but to follow. 

“What is this place?” she grumbled as she trailed after, now padding along a narrow tunnel with concrete walls toward the source of the warm light. 

“You’ll see,” repeated Mara, and the look that she threw over her shoulder revealed just how much she was enjoying keeping Catra in the dark—literally.

Catra huffed, but fell silent as the tunnel curved and a metal door came into view on the inner wall to her left. It was propped open by the meaty body of a tall man standing by the entrance, arms crossed and face in an intimidating scowl. Catra's nerves pricked into high alert. What exactly was this man guarding? Had Mara brought her to some triad hideout to get beaten into the turf? A drug operation? A—

She didn’t know what else, but it was not looking good.

She hung back, eyes flicking between the man at the door and Mara’s back as she headed straight toward him. Again her instincts were falling back into their usual pattern of screaming _get out of there!_

She could no longer make herself walk unquestioningly into what might be a trap. Especially since, if things went sour now, her odds were now two against one. Hands clenching at her sides, she stopped in her tracks, chest growing tight. “Mara—“ she managed, her voice coming out much shakier than intended.

Immediately the other girl paused and looked back, and for a heartbeat her eyes were so full of concern that it was like she’d forgotten to be angry. She took in Catra's tense form standing back where the shadows were deeper; safer, and sighed. Catra resisted the urge to retreat as Mara crossed back toward her. Her blue-gray eyes stayed soft but guarded as she stopped and looked down at Catra.

“What is it?” she asked, low enough that the man now eyeing them from the door couldn’t hear.

Catra gave a jerky shrug and tried to look annoyed instead of afraid. “I would feel better if—“ her voice threatened to crack and she cleared her throat, “—if you told me what’s going on.”

Mara seemed to see right through her, tilting her head knowingly. Catra bristled. 

“Don’t worry,” Mara said gently. “You’re safe with me. I promise.” She reached out a hand as if to take Catra's, stopped herself, and then settled for extending it palm-up as an invitation instead of a demand.

Catra's heart was still kicking too fast, but Mara’s honesty was written all over her features. And that single assurance, that _I promise_ , was somehow more powerful than all her bone-deep fears. She held those tender eyes, wondering why Mara was being so kind to her, trying to believe that the impossible was true. That Mara had forgiven her. That she cared. That she would protect her.

Why did she _want_ to trust this girl?

She was losing her touch, that was all. She was getting weak. A pretty face crossed her path, showed her a little attention, and her walls started crumbling. That’s all it was. 

She nodded, lowering her eyes and ignoring Mara’s outstretched hand, too ashamed to take it. But when the other girl returned her course toward the door with the bouncer, she followed.

The burly man’s scowl deepened as they approached, casting his eyes in darkness. He stepped into the doorway to block their passage. Catra would have been perfectly content to preserve her health and leave him alone, but Mara wasn’t cowed by his intimidating presence.

“We’re here for the main event,” she said as she marched right up and stopped in front of him. Catra did a double take. Was that a _smirk_ on her face?

And what _main event_ was she talking about?

Her unease bubbled up again, but the passing glance that Mara threw her over her shoulder was reassuring. Her eyes were repeating that fateful _I promise_ and Catra's heart still believed her.

Curse that stupid thing.

The bouncer still didn’t look impressed. “Fee?” he demanded in a gravelly rumble.

Catra was trying to strain a look beyond the door past his shoulder. When his utterance registered with her a beat later, a shot of freezing dread flooded her gut and her eyes flashed back to his glowering face. “What?”

Fee? What fee? She didn’t have any money. Did Mara not know that?

“Your entry fee,” the man elaborated just as gruffly. “Fifty yuan.”

Catra took a step back. She’d lived through enough versions of this scenario that she knew how it would end. “I—I don’t—”

Mara stepped in front of her. “She’s with me,” she said firmly, and reached up to grasp her hat and slide it off in a sweeping motion that made her golden ponytail swing free dramatically.

“Oh—!” The man’s eyes widened as the orange light glinted off the strands, turning them molten. He hurriedly stepped aside as if the sight was somehow worth more than fifty yuan. “Shira! Of course. I did not know it was you.” He gave her a shallow bow of respect, and, much to Catra's shock, then turned to her and did the same. “Enjoy the fight. Wager generously,” he mumbled to her in the rough tone of an implicit apology.

Mara led the way past him into the doorway, and Catra followed behind, bewildered.

As they paced down a short stone passage, beyond which she could see a huge domed space open up, she trotted up beside her companion—whom she was realizing she actually knew very little about. “Shira?” she murmured in Mara’s ear. Was that her real name? Why would some random underground doorman know her real name? She’d said she didn’t trust anyone enough to reveal it yet!

“Every fighter needs a stage name,” Mara replied, turning her head to grace Catra with an ironic little smile.

And Catra was _floored._

" _F_ _ighter?_ ” she wheezed out, feeling as if all the air had been squeezed from her lungs. " _Th_ _at’s_ what this place is?”

Even as she voiced the question, they reached the end of the path and emerged onto the middle level of the large stone amphitheater filling the cavern. At the bottom was a flattened clearing surrounded by a cage. The ceiling high above was shadowed, but lower down, bright lights illuminated the cage from all sides—a fighting arena. Already a pair of muscled men in nothing but their breeches were facing off on the interior, well into a fight if their bruises were anything to judge by.

Catra looked at Mara with wide eyes. Now her duffel bag and her beat-up athletic wear made sense. “You can’t be serious.”

The other girl turned fully around to face her. The few extra inches of height she had on Catra still made the motion slightly intimidating, but her expression was neutral. Her eyes looked like the shattered sky.

“How’s that for a perfect little life?” she said low in her throat as they stood inches apart, and Catra _swore_ the shiver that went through her was the sting of guilt. Really.

She swallowed her discomfort. “Mara, I—”

Mara shook her head, making her ponytail swing hypnotically. “Don’t worry about it,” she said, reaching out to lay her hand on Catra's arm briefly—a gesture meant to be comforting, but only serving to set Catra's nerves on fire. Any trace of anger from last night was gone from her eyes. She let her hand fall and Catra could still feel its imprint on her arm. “Just don’t make assumptions before you really know someone.”

Catra couldn’t understand the depths of this girl’s grace. She couldn’t understand her willingness to forgive. To forget. All she could do was nod dumbly, jaw too slack to finish her apology.

Mara flashed her a small smile, almost sympathetic in its warmth, and then hefted her duffel bag. “Now, I have to get going. I’ve got to warm up,” she said. Then she nodded to the leveled seating arrangement circling the room. “Sit somewhere in the middle. Too close to the ring and you’ll get trampled. Too far and you’ll get mugged.”

“Charming,” replied Catra, feeling queasy. She was thinking _you’re just going to leave me here?_ but she wouldn’t be caught dead admitting that she wanted Mara around anytime soon. There was no reason to feel that way. She would be fine! She was used to braving the sketchier side of Republic City. She chewed her nails ragged so even if her bending was compromised she’d never be defenseless. She could handle a few lowlifes, if it came to it. She didn’t need Mara around.

(She just wanted her around).

But she was wise enough to keep that little tidbit to herself and instead just give Mara a short nod before she departed. She watched that gold ponytail descend the wide steps to the floor of the cavern and then move to an opening in the wall hidden in shadow—the way to some version of a locker area, presumably.

Catra certainly did not feel a little lonelier in her absence.

She turned away from the sight of Mara’s retreating back and scanned the amphitheater for a secluded seat, trying to distract herself from that unwanted sentiment. Not too close to the front _or_ the back, Mara had warned, and Catra was seeing for herself just why that was sound advice. A mob of rough-looking men were crowded at the ringside, crumpled bills in their hands and voices filling the air with curses and insults and praise depending on which fighter was winning in that moment. At the top of the cavern, a few shady figures sat in shadow, and by the looks of the people straggling to and from their perches with sunken eyes and shaking hands, Catra knew exactly what kind of business they were running up there.

So she headed for a middle level of the amphitheater where only a few viewers lounged and pulled up her hood to discourage anyone trying to approach.

None did, as most were too absorbed in the current match to pay her much mind—that, and whenever a stray street rat came too close, she snarled at them like a feral cat. Once she was sure she was safe from any intrusions, she settled back against the step behind her and tuned in to what was happening below.

The fight in the cage was nearing its end, if the limping gait of the leaner competitor was any proof. Both men were battered and bruised after a fairly even match and Catra wondered how long they must have been going. Then she wondered how long the average match lasted, and whether this was a fight-till-submission type setup or a KO-only situation, and found herself beginning to worry about just what Mara was getting herself into.

Not worrying about _her,_ of course, just—underground brawling for the wagers of backstreet brigands sounded a little dangerous. Was Mara going to be able to hold her own against the type of ruffians she was watching beat each other into the turf right now? Gracious, forgiving, beautiful Mara?

Catra felt a new pit opening up in her gut and sat on her hands to keep from wringing them anxiously.

Mara would be fine. She obviously knew what she was doing. She could probably beat these suckers with her eyes closed.

Catra hoped.

The current fight ended with a vicious knee to the leaner man’s head that sent him limply to the dirt, unconscious (or dead. This was not making Catra feel better.), and the referee rushed into the ring to raise the winner’s arm over his head in celebration. The meaty victor pumped his arms and riled the crowd for a good moment, reveling in his achievement before trotting off to cool down in the locker area. A team of volunteers from the mob at the front picked up the lolling form of the loser and shuffled off in the same direction. They were grumbling and shaking their heads and Catra guessed they must have lost a good bit of money just now. She wondered what they planned to do with the poor man once behind closed doors. Then she promptly cut that thought off.

She received a welcome distraction as a lanky, skint-elbowed man swaggered up to the now empty cage and bellowed for the crowd’s attention. He held no microphone, but his voice carried around the stone amphitheater to the same effect.

“Ladies and gentlemen and everyone in between,” he boomed, and it echoed in Catra's sharp ears. “You’ve just witnessed the decisive victory of our underdog Wan Shi Metric-Ton over longtime favorite Boar-q-pine! What will happen next? Will Wan Shi Metric-Ton’s lucky streak last? Or will the newcomer from the South Side meet his match in the upcoming Quántóu Underground tournament, the largest purely nonbending fighting event in Republic City? Join us again this weekend to find out, Friday night beginning at 9 pm.” He was gesturing emphatically along with the inflection in his voice and it was honestly sort of riveting to watch. Briefly Catra ran through her weekend schedule in her head, prodded into trying to remember whether she was free on Friday. Then one phrase hit her in particular: _purely nonbending_ , and something in her gut twisted.

On a hunch, she scanned the circumference of the amphitheater for any viewers in typically elemental-colored clothes. She found next to none. That sickening feeling in her middle intensified, and looking closer, she realized that more than a handful were wearing scarfs or bands patterned with a single red circle against a black background: the Equalist insignia.

She sank down a little in her seat, trying to make herself less visible. Although her faded blue tunic meant she wouldn’t be instantly recognized as a firebender, she did not want to take any chances. One good look at her eyes and people would get suspicious.

She cursed internally. What had she gotten herself into? Had Mara lured her here for revenge after all? If the people here were so adamant about being an anti-bending establishment (because she knew that’s what they really meant by ‘purely nonbending’ in today’s political climate), would they hurt her for it? Would they turn her over to that psycho Amon, the leader of the Equalists, and his chi blocker army?

Was Mara in league with them?

Was she _one_ of them?

That was impossible. Right?

There was no way for Catra to know. Suddenly she had one more secret to keep from her new…whatever Mara was. She was _not_ about to sacrifice the safety of her bending for the sake of some pretty girl. And she was _not_ going to be caught off guard down here, in the midst of a hostile faction, alone. She narrowed her eyes and crossed her arms, sandwiching her hands tightly against her body. She’d have to be very careful until she knew for sure that she could trust Mara—or not.

“Now,” the announcer continued, breaking into her nervous thoughts, “it’s time for our main event of the night: Dexterous Deshi versus the undefeated warrior goddess, Shira!”

Catra stifled a snort, mood lightening somewhat at Mara’s ridiculous introduction. _Warrior goddess?_ Mara had told her that every fighter needed a stage name, but the additional titles seemed a little much.

 _Undefeated,_ though… That was impressive. Looks like Mara did know what she was doing down here. Catra would not be underestimating her again anytime soon. Doubly so when she might be an Equalist. That thought sent her anxiety skyrocketing again.

But for now all she could do was sit back, watch the upcoming main event, and learn all she could from Mara’s performance.

The first challenger to enter the ring was the so-called Dexterous Deshi (whose stage name Catra did not want to read too far into). He emerged from the locker area at a jog and crossed the cavern floor in a series of zigzagging curves, waving his arms and showboating to the crowd, trying to milk all possible favor from prospective betters with a dramatic entrance.

Once he’d finally made it to the cage after much ado and took to boxing the air inside, it was Mara’s— _Shira’s_ turn.

Catra might not have even noticed her emerge if she hadn’t been hanging on the edge of her seat to catch sight of her.

Where her competitor had taken every opportunity to inflate his own ego before the fight, Mara’s entrance was humble and simple in contrast. She trotted out of the locker area and straight to the cage with a laser-focused look in her sky eyes, only offering a quick flex of her arms to satisfy the crowd. Her hair was tied back severely so it would not fall into her eyes, and her hands and wrists were wrapped with cloth. She practically glowed beneath the floodlights, and the contrast with the dirty crowd made her look like she belonged on another plane of existence entirely.

 _She does look a little like a goddess,_ agreed Catra, and then bit the insides of her cheeks hard to punish that thought. She hoped her stupid infatuation would fade as the night went on. If it didn’t, well…needless to say she would have a bit of trouble staying attentive to her surroundings. She couldn’t afford to make that slip.

“Let the match begin!” the announcer called, and promptly backed out of the ring to get out of the way of any flying fists. None began right away, though. Both fighters stayed in their corners until the referee took his place in the center and performed an actual initiation to the match. 

As Shira and Deshi launched into action, Catra couldn’t look away from the burning intensity of Mara’s eyes, even from this distance. The so-called warrior goddess started out on the defensive, circling the perimeter of the ring, those eyes flickering up and down the other man’s form as if she were reading some hidden message there; some decipherable code.

Dexterous Deshi, for his part, hopped around in the ring just as frenetically as he had during his entrance, which may have been intended as unpredictable but only succeeded in wasting energy. He threw a couple of experimental punches from too far away to really threaten Mara, and she barely reacted, but that focus in her gaze never changed.

Catra felt her heart rate speeding up as if she were in the ring herself. She found herself trying to predict Mara’s movements before she made them, the way she would if _she_ were fighting her. She told herself that it was reflex, not the dark suspicion that she would need the insight someday, but she logged the information in the back of her mind anyway.

Mara fought precisely; efficiently; measuredly, like a soldier. When her opponent fired a jab at her head, she only dodged aside only as much was absolutely necessary so she could retaliate fast with a hook to the ribs. When he tried a roundhouse kick, she blocked his foot and countered by using his own momentum against him. She waited for him to tire himself out rather than initiating the attack herself, and while it was not what Catra would have done, it was working like a charm.

Over the course of the fight, Catra grew more and more entranced by the sight of Mara’s twisting, bounding body; the skill of her technique; the absolute _control_ she exhibited over everything happening in the ring. She fought as if every move Deshi made had been scripted beforehand and they were simply moving through the steps of a show she’d already won. She seemed untouchable. Unfairly talented. _Otherworldly._

The crowd obviously felt the same, because as the warrior goddess punched and predicted and _performed,_ a cacophony of voices gradually organized into a single cheer:

“Shi-ra! Shi-ra! Shi-ra!”

Catra narrowly resisted joining in.

She swallowed and found her throat dry. She couldn’t take her eyes away from those muscles rippling under pale skin; that golden hair swinging as Mara—no, _Shira—_ flowed through perfect combinations to lead her opponent toward a sound defeat.

She was mesmerizing. There was no other word for it. Even the mob at the edge of the ring, so noisy and rowdy just moments ago, was steadily quieting down in favor of hanging on her every move. She was a fighting machine, a force to be reckoned with, a virtual _weapon_ in and of herself.

 _How’s that for a perfect little life?_ she’d said.

Catra was thinking now, perched on the edge of her seat to drink in every possible motion the other girl made, breathless, _No, your life isn’t what’s perfect._

And then she froze and shook her head sharply. Let those thoughts carry her away and she’d end up in just as much trouble as Dexterous Deshi.

Catra let out her breath in a huff. Why did this girl _affect_ her so much? It wasn’t just the guilt of yelling at her that was bothering Catra now, or the natural fascination with her strange persona, but an unfamiliar _tightening_ in her rib cage as she watched her launch a show-stopping kick into her opponent’s stomach, sending him to the ground and claiming the match for herself. The power and grace she exhibited made Catra's heart pound, and the focus in her shattered-sky irises as she fought—

Mara was looking at her.

She stood over the crumpled form of her fallen opponent and as the referee thrust her arm into the air in a show of victory, she gazed out through the bars of the cage to lock eyes with Catra.

Her expression was hard to read at this distance. She wasn’t smiling, but she practically glowed brighter in the wake of her success. Her chest was rising and falling heavily but she seemed more satisfied than physically winded. Her muscles caught the light just as strongly as her golden hair, and her _eyes—_

Catra couldn’t look away.

Maybe it had been a mistake to come here after all. Maybe she was getting in too deep. Maybe it was safer to pretend like she’d never met this mysterious, powerful young woman and instead return to the comfort of her shitty routine, motivated by the familiar hold of her vices and Weaver’s whip. Maybe it would be kinder on her heart to pretend like she wasn’t obsessed with this girl. Maybe it would be better for both of them.

Maybe none of that was true, and she should just appreciate the first good thing to enter her life since she’d discovered the power of má.

Maybe she was going to get hurt. 

Maybe she could handle that.

Maybe Mara was worth the risk.

Her thoughts and emotions warred with one another until her head spun, and still Catra had no idea what to do or say when she saw the other girl next (other than apologize), but that meeting was rapidly approaching.

As Catra watched, the referee let Mara’s arm drop, she stepped over to help her opponent to his feet, and the two competitors bowed to each other before leaving the ring. The sun-haired victor headed straight for the opening to the locker area to avoid the betting crowd now pressing in. She paused just before disappearing from the room, though, and looked over her shoulder—right at Catra. She tilted her head just slightly toward the gap before her.

An invitation.

All the breath rushed out of Catra’s lungs.

 _Getting in too deep,_ her jaded mind repeated to her, but her skin was burning too hot for her to resist.

She rose creakily to her feet and descended the stone steps of the amphitheater toward the place where Mara had gone. She didn’t know what to expect when she got there (a shanking was still not totally out of the question, now that Catra had seen what this girl could really do), but as much as her heart thundered and her brow sweated, she could not bring herself to care. She just wanted a chance. A chance to apologize. A chance to save whatever this…relationship was. A chance to be better.

_You’ll still screw it up somehow._

She quashed down her grating inner voice and slipped through the opening to the back room. Down a short walkway, a dank offshoot of the main cavern opened up. Once her eyes adjusted, Catra found that this makeshift locker space, though dimly lit and generally inhospitable, was lined with mirrors, wooden benches, a single shower stall, and a punching bag. It would only accommodate a few fighters at a time even if each kept to his own devices, but it served its purpose.

Right now Mara was alone inside, seated on one of the benches with her back to the entrance, busy unwrapping her hands. Her hair hung slightly damp over her shoulder and it looked pale brown instead of gold. Her skin was flushed with the afterglow of her exertion and her shoulders were bowed in exhaustion.

The way she looked in this environment was so inaccessible, so independent, so _different_ from what Catra thought she knew that she was almost afraid to approach her. This was a new side of Mara that she hadn’t met; seemingly a completely different woman from the one who worked at Loo-Kee during the evenings. This one was raw, capable, dangerous. She was a force to be reckoned with, and Catra wasn’t sure she was up for that kind of reckoning.

But Catra was stewing in her guilt from the night before, and she had to do something about it.

So she approached this Mara—this Shira the warrior goddess—where she sat on the bench, stopped a few paces away, and cleared her throat awkwardly.

Mara turned and her gray-blue eyes were like sparks from a lightning bolt—and Catra had seen those up close.

Her meager resolve withered. “I’m—” She tried to speak but her intended words died under that electric gaze. She swallowed down the lump that always seemed to rise when she was trying to act like a decent human being and tried again. “I’m sorry. For blowing up on you.”

Mara’s broad, muscled shoulders rose in a shrug. It was an offhanded gesture, but her words held an edge when she said, “It’s fine. People here don’t take kindly to outsiders, after all.” One hand came free of its wrappings and Catra's eyes flicked to the bruises and marks all over the ridge of knuckles. _Shit._ She wondered if Mara was about to add a few more to her collection. 

She moved on to unwrap the other one.

“Look, I—” Catra tried not to let any hint of panic enter her voice. Her eyes stayed on that battered hand. “I’m just too used to being screwed over, okay? My life is hell and everyone I’ve ever met has seemed determined to make it stay that way.” She clenched her jaw and forced herself to meet Mara’s piercing gaze again. “I’m sorry for assuming you’re the same.”

There. It was out. She’d done her part. Now her fate was in Mara’s hands. She wondered if she would be dealing with the ones that tried to reach out to her so tenderly, or the ones that cracked men’s bones beneath their force. She stood stiff as a board and dug her ragged nails into her palms and waited to find out.

Mara did not offer her quick relief.

She finished, stowed the freed cloth strips in her duffel bag, and stood, all without a word. Then she crossed the distance to Catra, her pace slow and measured. Almost threatening, except for something softer behind the frustration in her look. Catra expected her to stop a few feet away, as was normal, but she didn’t. She stepped into Catra's space. Catra retreated instinctively, but her back came against the wall—she didn’t have anywhere to go. Even then, the other girl kept coming until they were inches away from being literally chest to chest.

Catra had no idea what to think. No idea what to do. They were alone in here. Mara could do anything to her and no one would know. Her body itched to _get out._ Her breath shallowed and she found herself glancing surreptitiously to her left, where the exit stood. Her fingers pressed into the concrete behind her like maybe it would give beneath her grasp. She tried to keep from flinching too obviously, but she got the feeling Mara noticed. Got the feeling she knew exactly what she was doing to Catra.

So why was she cornering her like this?

The silence graduated from uncomfortable to crushing before Mara finally spoke. When she did, it was faint and scratchy, like maybe she was about to cry (that was _not_ an option Catra had prepared for). “You want to know what Razz really said about you?” she asked.

Catra swallowed thickly, her panic trading itself for something deeper. Darker. This was it; this was when Mara rejected her. This was when her brief glimmer of hope was snuffed out for good. This was when the mysterious sun-haired girl walked out of her life without a second glance and left behind a hole bigger than seemed her due. “That I’m a lost cause?” she guessed, her own voice coming out strangled. It was how she would have described herself to a stranger. She would pass it off as a joke, but both of them would know better.

“No,” Mara said with what was almost a sardonic chuckle. “She said she could feel something between us. Our energies intertwined, before we even met. And I don’t know what she meant by that, but she also said that you needed something in your life that you didn’t even know about yet _._ ”

Catra was silent for a painful moment. Then, “I assume she meant you?”

“I don’t know,” Mara admitted. Then she lowered her head, hiding her expression. Catra didn’t know what she expected next, but it was _not_ for Mara to reach tentatively for her hand, though that’s what happened. And Catra let her, her curiosity winning out over confusion. The other girl’s palm was calloused and hot from her recent activity and it enveloped Catra's slender digits easily. Surprisingly, it didn’t bother her much. She might have jerked her own hand away not so long ago, but the intrigue surrounding this girl was enough to temper Catra's nerves, even as she pressed their palms together intimately. A breathless pause passed. Mara didn’t look up, but rather said into the space between them, “Do you…feel anything?”

Catra stopped and thought about it. She tried to figure out whether the tripping of her heart or the dryness of her mouth counted, but quickly decided that the answer to that was probably no. So instead she tried to extend her awareness, send it deeper, to where she drew energy to bend. That would be where she might feel an _intertwining_ like Razz had mentioned, she thought.

She closed her eyes and let her chi flow.

Catra waited, and felt, and strained her inner senses, but her search did not uncover any new supernatural pull in her energy. All she felt was the usual spiritual turmoil. Any connection—any _attraction_ she had to this girl seemed to be all physical.

It was both a relief and a disappointment. A relief, because Catra had never really trusted fate. It had never seemed to be on her side, so why would she put any stock in it?

A disappointment, though, because she knew how much her answer would hurt the other girl.

But she couldn’t bring herself to lie. Not about this. So she opened her eyes, swallowed, and admitted, weakly, to the truth:

“No.”

Mara’s head jerked up and the hurt in her eyes hit Catra like a punch to the gut. Her mouth was twisted down, so different from the smile that had pulled Catra in that first time, and her graceful brows were furrowing like her words were nothing short of betrayal. When she apparently didn’t find what she was looking for in Catra's expression, she turned her face away and prepared to step back, out of Catra's space.

Catra stopped her by clinging to her hand. Desperate to win back the warmth that Mara had shown her moments ago, she forced the _whole_ truth out through her constricting throat, figuring she had nothing left to lose. “—but I want to.”

Mara froze and regarded her warily, as if wondering if she was sincere. A tense moment passed before she relaxed, sighing in relief into the space between them, her eyes slipping closed. Catra was startled by the amount of trust that expressed to her. “Me too,” Mara murmured. “I want Razz to be right.”

Catra was torn. She wanted to believe her; she wanted someone in her life who was on her side; she wanted some semblance of a positive human relationship. But at the same time, she was not about to let this girl cut herself on her rough edges. She was not about to let her misplace her trust. Not when it might matter more than either of them realized, if Mara’s mysterious past was so important. She _knew_ that if she got the chance she would break things like she always did. So she reined in her desperation and let her hard, cold exterior return—it was safer that way. “You don’t even know me,” she mumbled.

“But I want to,” Mara breathed back. She ran her thumb over the inside of Catra's wrist and the brunette shivered and pulled away without really thinking about it.

She was pulling away on the inside, too—away from the notion that, as much as she wanted it to be true, she and this girl were somehow linked by fate or the spirits or whatever governed Catra's joke of a life. Away from the prospect of a connection; just another opportunity for her to ruin. Just another chance for disappointment. She liked Razz, and she’d been inexplicably right before, but Catra had to take her words with a grain of salt, because who knew whether she really was wise or just cracked?

She liked this girl, too, maybe. But again, she was too much of a variable for Catra to allow into her life. She was a mystery. A change that Catra didn’t know if she was ready for. And she doubted the other girl was really ready for her, either: a cynical, world-weary husk of a person who couldn’t even earn a living without being doped up on leaf and alcohol.

No. This wasn’t the right thing for either of them. Catra could already see it, and soon the other girl would too.

Afraid to look up and see the disappointment in the girl’s eyes, Catra whispered to their now separated hands: “I wouldn’t be too sure.”

And before the girl could reply, she slid along the wall to escape the pin of that blue-gray gaze and hurried for the exit.

... 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> https://www.deviantart.com/legendgrass/art/Shira-832795854


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you again for your sweet comments. I read em all

She would have avoided Loo-Kee for the next several days if it weren’t basically her only lifeline to cheap and hearty victuals.

She didn’t want to see Mara—or whatever her real name was—after the _moment_ they’d shared. The moment she’d ruined. She didn’t want to see the repercussions of yet another one of her screwups. She couldn’t bear to look at the other girl’s face for fear of what she would find.

Too bad Razz seemed bent on making their paths cross one way or the other. Claiming sickness, the old woman bowed out of running the shop that weekend, leaving Mara to work the kitchen in her stead. Catra knew it was bullshit. Razz hadn’t missed a day of work for the entire time she’d known her. The woman didn’t _get_ sick. Catra was convinced that she was at least magic in that regard.

So now her poorly concealed attempts to force the two of them together only served to make Catra feel worse. Why couldn’t she ever get a break, even from the people she _didn’t_ happen to hate yet? Couldn’t Razz just accept that she’d been wrong for once? This not-Mara girl was not her _soulmate,_ or whatever she seemed to believe. Catra didn’t have a soulmate, because she didn’t deserve one. She’d learned at least that much from her shitty run of life. She was destined to live out her days alone in a haze of alcohol, má and suffering and she might as well make peace with that.

Currently, Catra was doing just that. She was slumped at her usual table in the corner next to two empty bottles of baijiu, drifting in and out of a restless doze. She kept her head down both to block out the irritating ambient light and to avoid even the possibility of catching Mara’s passing eye. She could feel the girl trying, though; apparently bent on making Catra suffer more than was already necessary. 

Catra didn’t know how long she sat there, unable to be bothered to relocate to her nighttime haunt (it couldn’t really be called a _home_ ) for a more comfortable rest. The baijiu loosened her tightly-wound nerves and almost allowed her to forget that the object of her anxiety was in the same room with her at all.

She didn’t come to her senses until an unexpected hand on her shoulder ripped her into consciousness with a started gasp.

When she looked up wildly, her gaze locked on familiar gray-blue, and the first thing out of her mouth was, “Shit.”

The set of Mara’s jaw was obviously an attempt not to appear hurt by that. “We closed early tonight,” she said, a waver in her voice anyway. “You’re the last one here.”

Closed early? Loo-Kee never closed early! Razz was as much a creature of habit as she was a cryptic possessor of possible supernatural power. Catra doubted that her shop had closed early since the very first day it’d opened.

It didn’t matter. Today Mara was in charge, and she apparently ran things differently. Looking around, Catra could see that all the other patrons had already taken their leave. And now she was left alone in a very uncomfortable situation.

She had to go. Now. 

“Sorry,” she muttered hastily, rising from her chair so fast that she banged her hip on the table and her head swam with spots. But before she could shoulder by Mara and hurry to the exit, the girl moved to block her path.

Catra bristled instantly. She could not stand feeling trapped. “Move,” she growled, fingers clenching into fists.

Mara raised her palms. “Wait. I just wanted to talk to you. Maybe we could—”

“No,” Catra cut her off. “Now move.”

With an exasperated sigh the girl stepped aside, but as Catra passed she kept pressing, an almost desperate note in her voice, “Please, I want to talk about the other night. I didn’t mean to scare you off—”

Catra whirled halfway to the door, knowing her eyes were _blazing_ in anger by the way Mara flinched. “I’m not _scared_ ,” she snarled, “I’m a realist. And I can already tell that ‘you and me’ is a bad idea. So leave me alone.”

Mara’s mouth worked for a moment before any sound came out. “But Razz—”

“—was wrong!” Catra finished sharply, shaking her head. “We aren’t magically connected. We aren’t soulmates. We’re just strangers.” Pausing for breath, she had time to wonder, “Why do you care so much about it anyway?”

The golden-haired girl wore a twisted mask of regret. “Because _I_ feel something different,” she cried. It was a good thing they were the only ones left in the shop, because their voices were rising louder and louder. “I didn’t choose to. It’s not my fault I feel drawn to you. But I do and what Razz said made it make sense and I don’t see why you won’t just give it a chance!”

“Because it’s not _worth_ a chance!” Catra fired back instantly, feeling her neck prickle hotly with her growing anger. “ _I’m_ not worth it. If I let you get to know me, you’ll figure that out too. That’s why I’m scared. I don’t need any more people against me in this world.” 

She snapped her mouth shut abruptly, shocked that she’d let such a vulnerable detail slip free. She blamed the two bottles of alcohol she’d downed, but that didn’t make it any more bearable.

“I wouldn’t turn against you,” Mara tried to protest softly, but Catra was already snapping, “I’ve got to go,” and resuming her path to the door. She ignored the other girl’s attempts to call after her and shouldered her way out into the darkness.

She stepped down off Loo Kee’s stoop and onto cold pavement, walking fast. She was halfway down the alley before she heard the door bang open again behind her. She didn’t have to throw a quick glance over her shoulder to know that she’d see the glint of golden hair pursuing her. _For spirits’ sake._ Her heartbeat picked up and her blood rushed in her ears. Deep down she was fairly certain that this girl didn’t mean her any harm, but her instincts screamed louder than that knowledge. She broke into a run. 

When she reached the nearest twist in the street, she skipped down it into a deeper, dingier darkness, where she would have an easy time blending in. Her bare feet slapped quietly against the dirty ground as she turned another corner, and another, trusting her mental map of the city to guide her toward sanctuary. She hoped Mara was far enough behind that she wouldn’t be able to pick up her trail.

Hope wasn’t a strategy, so she kept moving anyway. The shadows, which sometimes seemed to smother her like an unseen enemy, were her comfort tonight, cloaking her in the safety of anonymity. Her blood ran hot enough that the cold didn’t bother her now.

After sufficiently losing herself in a virtual maze of city paths, Catra slowed, trying to steady her breath enough to listen for sounds of pursuit. She found none.

Apparently she knew these streets better than Mara.

Relieved, she finally let herself come to a halt, breathing deeply but silently, and looked around to gauge her surroundings.

She was at a narrow crossroads with a single streetlamp flickering above it. The building ahead and to the right was streaked with graffiti—a triad tag. A common occurrence, but this particular one was familiar. She knew where she was. It wasn’t far from the little hole in the wall she called her own (by squatter’s rights, but still).

It also wasn’t far from the place she usually met her dealer, Shady Shin, for her week’s supply of má. She’d let her usual appointment pass her by while she dozed at Loo-Kee tonight, but she wondered if he would still be loitering close by. She could use a restock.

Though she knew it would be safer to make straight for her sanctuary, the prospect of more má tugged her in a different direction. She only paused momentarily before striking off at a brisk but easier pace toward their meeting spot. The fear of Mara catching up to her largely faded into the back of her mind as the draw of leaf preoccupied her.

She followed the familiar route, trying not to focus too much on the way her feet carried her toward her vices so effortlessly.

When she turned the last corner, she could tell even before she got to the spot that Shady Shin was not there. The shadowed alcove behind the nearby bar was devoid of the telltale darker shape of his figure. 

The discovery bothered her more than she wanted to admit.

She could feel the flicker of hope in her chest dying out as she approached the spot anyway, anxiously considering that maybe she’d just overlooked him. When she reached it and stopped at the edge of the deeper shadow, a hollow feeling replaced where it had burned.

 _Of fucking course_. Why would anything ever chance to go right for her?

She turned away with an angry sigh, hands twitching at her sides as she fought down the urge to hit something. This was all Mara’s fault. If she hadn’t screwed with Catra's emotions the other night, Catra wouldn’t have felt the need to sink herself into drunkenness tonight and she wouldn’t have missed her arrangement with Shin. Now she was out a week’s worth of má and she’d have to deal with the consequences later. Surely Shin would raise his prices as she got more desperate, and it would cost her a full day’s pay instead of half, and she wouldn’t be able to afford her dinner at Loo-Kee, and she’d smoke more to distract herself from the hunger, and—

“Shit!” she snarled and lashed out, unable to hold back anymore as her thoughts spiralled. Her fist hit the bricks beside her and her knuckles exploded in pain. She stood there for a moment, head lowered to watch the blood well from the white scratches she’d just acquired, breathing hard and deep.

When she’d recovered what little composure she possessed as a baseline, she set off toward her place, letting the throbbing in her hand smother any other awareness. She didn’t want to feel anything else right now.

The darkness closed behind her as she slunk into the mouth of the next alley.

…

An hour found her slumped into the dirty, threadbare cushions of the couch she called her own. Technically this whole tiny basement haunt was abandoned—once a drug den beneath a run-down bar called the Fright Zone, long since busted by the Republic City police force—but no one had cared enough to kick her out of it since she started squatting here, so it was as close to home as Catra had ever known.

The corners were black with mold and the carpet that used to cover the dirt floor was thin enough to see through. Cushions from furniture long since deteriorated littered the floor near the walls, and a table with only three legs left sagged by the couch. There had once been trash and used drug paraphernalia scattered between them, but the police had confiscated that. The shelves in the alcove behind her couch, meant to act as cellar space for the bar above but actually once full of má and white powder, were now empty too.

The only real light source would have been a naked bulb over the cellar alcove, but it hadn’t worked as long as she’d been here. She made do with the faded glow of the nearest streetlight filtering in through the largely dirt-smeared windows high on the streetside wall.

She only needed to see well enough to light her joint, so it didn’t matter much.

She was halfway through one now, having decided to wallow in her self-pity tonight rather than ration her supply until she saw Shin next. It was worth the sacrifice; she knew her emotions would be deep enough to drown in otherwise. 

Now instead, she lounged against the cushions feeling like she was floating six inches out of her body, her brain too mellowed to care. She’d been staring at the weakly glowing end of her cigarette for what seemed like hours, mesmerized by the sight. Every time it threatened to go out, she lit it again with a flick of her fingers just so she could keep watching. Her concerns of the future and Mara and Shin seemed far away and small.

She breathed and stared and existed for an indeterminate amount of time, letting everything else fade away.

Naturally, the universe couldn’t leave her alone for too long.

Catra jumped out of her skin as the splintered door rattled.

“No!” she blurted, scrambling off the couch—rather, _trying_ to but instead ending up on her ass on the dirty ground—to curl up and present a smaller target to the police officers she knew had finally found her. A flame licked up in her palm in preparation to defend herself.

_Why does shit always have to go wrong?_

The intruder succeeded in bypassing the door’s rusted-out lock. The old planks swung inward, revealing the dark silhouette of a figure with broad shoulders and—

Catra threw out her hand and a frantic jet of flame with it. The stream twisted across the room, illuminating the small space; the intruder’s wide-eyed expression of shock; her golden ponytail—

_Oh, no._

Mara’s reflexes allowed her to lean aside to avoid the brunt of the blast, but the trailing edge of the fire caught her shoulder and she cried out, grasping at the seared skin.

“Mara?” Catra cried incredulously, surprise and confusion and guilt all crashing through her _much_ harder than usual, thanks to the má. She was virtually swept away by the force of it, but managed to ground herself by clutching onto the nearby leg of the couch. Her eyes struggled to focus on the other girl’s face, not fully convinced that it was really her and not just a hallucination.

But the voice that was now swearing and griping in pain certainly sounded like her. Combined with that telltale gleaming hair, it was unmistakable, even with Catra as compromised as she was. 

“How did you find me?” she gasped, not sure if this was better or worse than having the police break down the door to find her baked by a pile of má. Now she was trapped in an enclosed space with the last person she wanted to see between her and the door, her wits gone and her intruder already provoked by the burn to her shoulder.

But when Mara raised her eyes to meet Catra's with a grimace, there was no anger behind them. She looked slightly bewildered, concerned, and hurt in every sense of the word, but not angry. She gripped her injured shoulder gingerly and, rather than answer Catra's question, said between her teeth, “You’re a bender.”

Catra's momentary relief flipped right back into dread. _Shit!_ Of course she’d blown her cover in a matter of days. Of course she’d been unable to preserve her secret and, by association, her safety. _Please don’t be an Equalist. Please don’t. Please_ — “You aren’t going to turn me over to those chi blocker nutcases, are you?” She tried to make it sound offhand, but she couldn’t keep the nervousness out of her voice in the vulnerable state she was in.

Mara’s back stiffened, but Catra couldn’t discern why in the moment. “Of course not. Not for that,” she assured Catra, “but—” She looked around the dank, dark room, taking in the horrific condition of the commodities and the still-smoldering joint on the table, and raised one palm. “What is this?”

Catra slowly levered herself off the floor and settled back on the couch. She felt better there; safer, more grounded. Like maybe the words she knew were coming would hurt less if she was surrounded by cushions. Mara waited impatiently as she adjusted and readjusted herself on the couch before answering. “I know your secret,” Catra finally drawled with a slow shrug. “I guess now you know mine.” _All of mine._ She reached for her joint again and saw Mara watch the motion in agitation.

“But _why?_ This stuff can ruin your life!”

Catra raised the cigarette and took a pull, letting the smoke billow out her nostrils on the exhale. “You see anything around here worth living for?” she croaked, waving an arm to indicate her filthy den and the city beyond.

Mara’s jaw tightened. “Look, this is _bad_ for you. You could start to depend on it. People throw away everything they have just to get their hands on their next hit, and before you know it—”

“You have no idea what you’re talking about. You don’t know me.” Catra stopped looking at her, trying to dismiss her with the force of her will alone. When it didn’t work, she grunted out, “If you’re just going to lecture me, leave.”

“I’m trying to _help_ you,” Mara shot back, gesturing for emphasis and then clutching her shoulder when it hurt.

“This is the _only_ thing that helps!” Catra shouted, her own voice seeming to rattle in her eardrums. At Mara’s stunned pause, a flood of words pushed their way free, loosened by the smoke in the air: “Don’t you get it? I’m already there. I already depend on it.” Her volume rose as all her buried resentment came bubbling up from its buried depths. “Without a hit, I can’t do my job. Without a hit, I can’t face my manager without wanting to claw her ugly face off. Without a hit, I can’t live my shitshow of a life without breaking down every other minute because it’s all fucking _pointless._ This is what _lets_ me live.” Her voice cracked and she had to stop to swallow down tears. _Why tears? You shouldn’t cry._ She wanted to cry. She sniffed the urge back. “So don’t tell me what’s bad for me, Mara. There’s no question that it’s bad. Everything else is just worse.” She felt vaguely that she’d given away too much, but it didn’t seem important now—now that the truth was already out there. Now it was up to Mara to react. Catra glared into those gray-blue eyes with her own unfocused ones and dared her to argue. “And don’t tell me you’re sorry, either,” she tacked on bitterly.

And so Mara didn’t. She just stood there, expression torn between disapproval and something dangerously close to pity, searching Catra's face with her sharp eyes. Catra wondered if she found what she was looking for.

_Probably not._

At length, the sun-haired girl sighed and lowered her head in defeat, as if knowing that she didn’t stand a chance of coming between Catra and her má. She would have been right. Catra clutched her joint tighter in her hand, suddenly afraid that the other girl would try to take it from her by force.

But Mara didn’t. Instead she rubbed her burned shoulder again and raised her head, and this time the look on her face was resigned, but with something else underneath it. Catra narrowed her eyes, trying to place it, but her vision would not cooperate. It didn’t seem bad; that was all she could determine before her focus slipped.

Mara let out another sigh. “At least let me stay here with you while you…finish,” she said finally, flicking a hand at the last inch or so of Catra's joint.

Catra found that she didn’t want to refuse her. Still, just to be difficult (as was her natural inclination), she retorted, “What, as my babysitter?”

“As someone who thinks you have more to live for than just má,” Mara returned seriously.

And, Catra figured that even if she did want Mara to leave, the other girl would be tough to convince. Catra would probably have to burn her again to send her on her way, but she very much did not want to do that. She eyed the black smear on Mara’s tunic with a flicker of regret. She was lucky the other girl hadn’t called the police on her as soon as she made that mistake. She couldn’t count on getting let off the hook a second time. Plus, she’d never had company while she smoked before. It might be…better, this way. Or maybe it was just better because it was Mara. 

Maybe that was just the má talking.

Catra wasn’t sure how long she sat there staring at the taller girl, but as long as she watched, Mara never moved. Catra didn’t hate that as much as she wanted to. 

“Fine,” she said eventually, softly. She wriggled up further on the couch so she was curled into one creaking armrest and there was room enough for Mara at the other end.

The other girl sat down a safe distance from her (maybe to give Catra space; maybe because she wasn’t anxious to be burned again), coughing on the cloud of smoke and mold scent that puffed up from the cushion. She waved it out of her face and twisted her mouth into a frown to express her displeasure, but didn’t say anything. She gave Catra that much.

The two settled back into opposite ends of the couch to wait while Catra smoked to the end of her joint. Little by little, Catra relaxed again, content that Mara seemed unlikely to make any dangerous moves on her while she was unguarded. The girl simply sat and watched, her eyes soft and her jaw tight, fingers gently prodding around the graze on her shoulder.

“Sorry about that,” Catra murmured at length.

Mara shrugged her unmarked shoulder dismissively. “I shouldn’t have surprised you.”

Catra fell silent, not knowing what to say to that. Her mind wandered through the events of the night, catching on a few choice points—usually an image of Mara, gold hair shining, emotion flashing, always a step behind her even when Catra didn’t want her to be. _Thought_ she didn’t. Told herself she didn’t. But—

“How did you find me?” The question suddenly occurred to her with fresh urgency. Hadn’t she lost Mara in the alleys? Surely she’d outpaced her well enough to make it away scot-free. And the streets were dark; no way Mara had picked up any kind of trail to track her.

Mara pursed her lips and paused contemplatively. “You won’t believe me,” she said, but continued anyway: “I could feel you.”

Catra's first instinct was to laugh, because that was ridiculous. No way Mara could _feel_ her somehow, like…

Like maybe their energies were intertwined.

She shook her head sharply.

“I told you,” Mara mumbled, looking away, “but it’s true. It was like a pull. And it brought me here.” Her brows lowered. “For all the good that did.”

Catra felt along the backs of her teeth with her tongue. Her joint was spent; she let the blackened stub fall from her fingers to the tabletop. “Why?” she wondered—assuming, for the moment, that Mara really was telling the truth. Why would they be spiritually connected? Why would any supernatural forces want to bring them together? Why were they concerned with Catra's and Mara’s lives anyway? What did it all mean?

Mara shrugged one shoulder again, and it distracted Catra from her train of thought. All of that would only matter if the spirits were real and gave a shit about her, both of which were unlikely on their own; together, it was downright impossible. Mara had probably just followed the sound of her footsteps, heard her blow up over Shin’s absence and wandered the rest of the way to the most likely destination. Probably.

She was getting too tired to care. All she knew was that right now Mara was here and that was a constant she could depend on for the moment. An island of temporary certainty in the midst of the chaotic ocean of her life. She didn’t understand how or why, but right now she felt like just accepting it.

She shuffled closer to Mara on the couch.

The night wore on, and as Catra slowly sank deeper into the haze that numbed the pain, she slumped unknowingly toward the other girl. Mara didn’t move away.

By the time Catra was beginning to nod off into unconsciousness, her head was resting on her shoulder. She felt more at peace than she had in a long time. And still, Mara let her.

“This is not because I like you,” Catra blurted in an abrupt moment of clarity, somewhere in the twilight between waking and sleeping. Then she sank back under, sighing out her tension as she leaned into Mara’s warmth. She hadn’t realized how _cold_ it always was, alone. That was her last semi-coherent thought.

She figured the feeling of fingers combing through her tangled hair after that must have been a dream.

That and the soft, whispered answer of, “I know. But I like you.”

…


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> fluff time

Catra woke slowly, with difficulty, like she had to struggle through a pool of muck in order to reach consciousness. Má before bed did that to her sometimes. Usually she fixed it by smoking some more in the morning, but right now that wasn’t an option. She couldn’t remember why not, but the certainty sat on her chest like a rock. Grogginess weighed down her mind and made her sluggish. She tried to gather herself; tried to break through to the surface, but awareness was reluctant to come. She fought for it with growing frustration.

The first thing Catra registered as she dragged herself from the clutches of twilight was that she felt disgusting. Her eyes were caked with grit, her mouth tasting sour, her hair tangled on the back of her neck, her face pressed into—

Into what? Something soft and warm. The couch cushions? Those usually smelled worse.

Catra stirred and groaned in confusion and inhaled, trying to get a better sense of what the _hell_ was going on before she was forced to open her eyes and face it.

Her memory came back to her in stages.

She’d taken a hit, obviously, and after that… 

Her back stiffened. Mara had shown up. Here. She’d followed her from the restaurant, and they’d gotten into a fight. And then…they stopped? Catra couldn’t remember much after that. But if Mara had been here, and Catra’s face was now nestled into something that felt suspiciously like a human body—

This might be a problem.

Then the rest of her awareness hit her like a Satomobile, and her dread veered in a whole new direction.

“Shit! I have to go to work!” she cried, bolting upright so fast she tumbled off the couch.

Mara, ponytail mussed, eyes like clouded sky, had indeed been acting as her pillow. She now startled out of her sleep too and blurted the first question that came to her mind: “When?” 

“Ten minutes ago!” Catra was too panicked to pay much thought to the situation with Mara at the moment. She could figure out that bullshit later. Right now— “I look like a fucking mess, and being late, too—Weaver will skin my hide.” She could see it now: getting called up to the managerial office, Weaver closing the door securely behind her so no one could see when she withdrew her switch from her desk drawer, dreadfully slow, giving Catra plenty of time to stew, then approaching her with the bloody thing held casually in hand… Her back twinged just thinking about it. “This is the last straw; I’m going to lose my job. I can’t—”

“Catra.” Mara grasped her hands and the touch was so grounding that Catra snapped out of her spiral immediately. “Come clean up at my place.”

Catra blinked at her, feeling her eye twitch. “Your place? You have a place?”

“Razz’s guest room,” explained Mara sheepishly, “but it’s better than nothing.”

That offhand comment might have stung Catra before, but she now knew Mara well enough that she didn’t mean anything by it. Plus she had no better option. If she didn’t show up fast, and presentable, she might literally be fired on the spot. It might already be too late.

“Okay,” she agreed on a nervous swallow. The nausea in her gut wasn’t just because of her job anymore. The thought of seeing Mara’s personal living space was almost as scary. She was afraid that if she got too close, she wouldn’t be able to untangle herself again. She might find out something about this girl that she shouldn’t. She might fall even further into a pit she couldn’t dig herself out of. She—

She still had no choice.

“Come on,” Mara urged her, sliding off the couch and offering Catra her hands to pull her to her feet. When their palms made contact, a jolt went through Catra, and she blamed the má. It became harder to do so, though, when Mara kept hold of her as they hurried out the creaking door and her heart _still_ kept racing.

The dirty street surface stung her soles as they ran through the twisting alleys toward Loo-Kee. Mara, who had apparently memorized the way in one trip, never let go of her hand, instead tugging her along faster than Catra would have made it on her own with her brain still in a fog. Catra wanted to protest _I know where I’m going!_ but at the same time, she was kind of enjoying this against all odds.

Her breath came ragged and her feet ached from the exertion by the time they reached the stoop of Razz’s restaurant, but she couldn’t stop for a rest. Her _livelihood_ depended on this. She couldn’t believe she’d let herself lose track of time. Usually the sun in her face woke her in time to make it to work (since she didn’t have a clock. It wasn’t very reliable on cloudy days), but with her face buried in Mara’s chest this morning she’d totally missed it.

She hoped being thirty minutes late would receive a lighter punishment than, say, an hour. But she doubted it. It was Weaver, after all.

So the two girls kept up a panicked pace, bursting through Loo-Kee’s doors so suddenly that the early-morning patrons all jumped in their seats. Razz, however, who was back behind the counter (looking mysteriously healthy) didn’t even look surprised. Rather, she just gave them both a wry, soft smile and shook her head knowingly. 

Catra didn’t have time to question it at this point. She just let Mara drag her past the counter and down the short hall where the restroom stood on one side and an unmarked door on the other. They pushed through the latter and raced up the stairs that stood directly within.

At the top was another crossroads where now instead of doors, a curtain stood on either side of the landing. Mara chose the left, slipped through with Catra in tow, and suddenly Catra was standing in her home. Only then did the golden-haired girl finally release her hand in favor of crossing to another curtained doorway on the left wall, which she disappeared through.

Catra lingered behind, savoring her first look around the room for longer than she should have. It was scarcely furnished, only containing a low bed, a small night table and chair, and a weathered old wardrobe. Mara’s duffel bag was tossed at the foot of the bed. The floor was cushioned by a rug in the same sage green as the curtain at the entrance, but other than that there was little to see. Catra had the chance to wonder whether any of it belonged to Mara herself or if Razz had provided it all. Then she wondered how exactly Mara had chanced to end up here, and what she may have left behind.

Then, “Over here,” Mara’s voice drew her attention to the doorway she’d gone to, through which Catra could now pick up the sound of running water.

Her feet obediently headed toward the noise, but her heart skipped a beat. Was Mara expecting her to _bathe_ here? In her home? In front of her? She couldn’t remember the last time she’d taken an actual bath. Usually she just cleaned up the best she could in the locker area after work, but it wasn’t like she ever had anyone to impress.

Well. She didn’t before.

She reached the doorway and peered through into the bathroom space beyond. Mara was standing at the wooden counter beside a drawn bathtub, gathering things from the cabinet space beneath. Under her feet lay a mat the same green as the carpet in the other room. There wasn’t any curtain around the tub.

“Uh.” Catra found her throat tight. Mara looked up and her face was so open, so kind. It made this even more complicated. “You want me to…?”

Mara straightened, a towel and washcloth in her hand. She passed them over to Catra, who accepted them warily. “Yeah,” she responded as if this wasn’t weird at all. And maybe it wasn’t, among the class of citizens who could actually afford to bathe on a regular basis. Catra had no idea. At her hesitance, Mara lost a little bit of the energy in her posture. “Unless—"

“No,” Catra cut her off quickly. “It’s fine. Thank you. I’m just not—I don’t usually—" She swallowed the words that threatened to tumble out and make her look foolish. “Thank you.”

Mara’s eyes softened and Catra didn’t resent that as much as she would have just a short time ago. Maybe sleeping on top of the other girl last night had made her go soft. Maybe it was because she was beginning to let herself consider the possibility that Mara _did_ care; maybe she wasn’t just like everybody else.

Nobody else had invited Catra’s filthy ass into their living space and offered her a bath yet, or spent the night beside her when she was high on má.

She felt the rock-solid walls around her heart crumble just a little bit more.

“I won’t watch,” the golden-haired girl assured with a wry little smile beneath those tender eyes, sidling past Catra to allow her the bathroom to herself. “Just let me know if you need anything.”

Catra almost choked on her swallow, so she just nodded rather than trying to speak. Mara pulled the curtain over the doorway, and Catra was effectively alone.

She stared at the drawn bath. The water was steaming lightly, which was at once intimidating and profoundly attractive. Catra worried, though, that if she were to get in, she’d shed so much dirt it would clog Mara’s drain for eternity.

But she was still more than short on time and she didn’t want to let Mara’s gesture go to waste, so she had little choice but to drop the towels on the mat, strip, and climb in.

Usually, Catra hated any body of water larger than a drinking glass. This, though—

The warm bath threatened to wrap its comforting arms around her and pull her in until there was not even a sliver of a chance of making it to work today. She sat down and let the heat go to work on the tension in her shoulders as she scrubbed quickly at her dirty body with soap and the washcloth Mara had given her, anxious to finish and get out before she gave in to temptation. As she’d feared, the chronic uncleanliness of her skin turned the water a grayish hue the longer she rubbed, but the satisfaction of peeling the virtual layers of city dirt off her body was stronger than her embarrassment.

She finished as fast as she could and then pulled the plug, wrung out the cloth, and hopped out into the embrace of the towel she’d placed on the mat. She eyed her dirty clothes lying on the floor nearby and felt disinclined to ruin her freshness by climbing back into them, but they were all she had. Unless… 

No. She couldn’t. Right? Mara had already shown her enough kindness by letting her use her space. She couldn’t start stealing her clothes, too.

Catra finished with the towel and reluctantly donned her usual blue tunic and baggy breeches. The smell of smoke and sweat hit her hard and she wrinkled her nose against it, but it was better than overreaching her welcome here. Besides, if Weaver’s punishment was going to be as bad as she thought, this was much safer than risking staining Mara’s clothes with her own blood.

Decent again, she cleared her throat and called out, “Mara? I’m done.” That seemed a little clingy, so she tacked on, “What should I do with the, uh, towel?”

“I’ll take it,” Mara’s voice replied, a little muffled, from the other room. A few seconds passed before the curtain twitched and bundled aside and the girl herself stepped through into the steamy bathroom interior. When she first caught sight of Catra, she stopped. She seemed a little breathless for a moment as she let her eyes roam her freshly scrubbed face. Catra felt her cheeks heat and suddenly missed the layer of grime that would normally have disguised her blush. She pressed the used towel into Mara’s hands to distract them both.

Mara didn’t take her eyes away. “You clean up nicely,” she observed, her voice a little too rough for the comment to simply be polite.

The heat spread to Catra's ears and she looked away. “Don’t get used to it.”

Mara snorted a little laugh and chucked the towel unceremoniously behind her into the main room. Then, “Turn around,” she directed, reaching over to the counter to pick up her own wide-toothed comb.

“Is it really—" Catra began to protest, but hesitated. She had to _go_ if she wanted any chance to save her job _,_ but at the same time she absolutely craved more attention from Mara. Having her comb her hair to make her look presentable for once? Having those capable pale hands rake through her wild mane of hair? Care for her? Pamper her? That was certainly worth a few more lashes of Weaver’s switch, right?

“It will only take a second,” Mara assured, and Catra's reservations flew out the window. She turned to face the oval mirror on the wall, which was cracked on one hemisphere so it made her face look split in two. In its surface she watched Mara arrange herself behind her and tried to school her warming face into a neutral expression. She hoped the other girl would be too intent on her task to notice that Catra was virtually bursting at the seams.

The first touch of the comb to her strands sent ripples through her, and Catra clenched her hands in her pockets to keep from shivering. There was _no_ reason in the world such a stupid little thing should have affected her so much, but here she was anyway, digging her nails into her palms in order to avoid looking like the desperate, touch-starved orphan she was. But she could feel Mara’s fingers in her hair, and she was close enough that the heat of her body—

“You can rinse your mouth out while I’m doing this if you want. Mine is always gross in the morning,” Mara’s low voice cut into her thoughts. Catra's eyes flicked toward hers in the mirror, but Mara was looking down, busy with her hair. “I don’t have an extra toothbrush, but Razz made me some stuff that’s supposed to be just as good. Don’t blame me for the flavor.” She interrupted the stroke of the comb to point with it toward a jar on the back corner of the counter. It was full of something blue-green and thick, and Catra instinctively wrinkled her nose. What could that possibly taste like? She wondered if it was worth a clean mouth to try.

 _Why not?_ she decided, and reached for the jar. If she was going to have an impromptu makeover in Mara’s borrowed bathroom, she might as well go all the way.

She unscrewed the lid and the first whiff made her head spin. It was suspiciously similar to the smell of wet paint. “Do I just…?” she tipped the container toward her slightly so the gel inside oozed in her direction. Mara nodded, and Catra shrugged and put the rim to her lips.

The substance tasted just like it smelled and Catra barely got a dollop past her lips before she recoiled from the foul flavor and quickly replaced the lid on the jar. Mara laughed at the way she made a face and pulled her head back into her shoulders, but the nastiness on her tongue distracted her from that lovely sound for a regretful moment. Catra tried to maneuver the gel around so it coated her teeth and did what it was supposed to, but she was sure she didn’t let it sit long enough before spitting it into the sink with conviction.

“What the fuck?” she cried as soon as it was clear of her mouth. She replaced it instantly with a handful of water and tried to wash out the disgusting aftertaste.

“I told you,” Mara replied, devolving into a fresh fit of laughter. The action turned her cheeks pleasantly pink, and Catra opted to focus on that instead of the foul experience she’d just subjected herself to.

“Does it really clean your teeth?” she asked suspiciously, wondering if Mara had just tricked her into sucking on some actual paint or something.

Mara shrugged. Her smile was bright as her sunny hair. “Razz said it does, and she’s always right, so.”

“Or she’s just crazy!” Catra scoffed. Mara’s expression dimmed a little bit, and Catra didn’t realize what had just come out of her mouth until too late. _Oh._ Right. Mara still believed Razz’s bit about them being connected, or whatever. A little tendril of regret twisted into her gut and she tried to backtrack, “But I guess we’ll find out.”

Mara met her eyes in the mirror and her hands went still on her hair. A heavy pause, wrought with tension but not necessarily the bad kind, fell over them and Catra felt her breath hitch, but she didn’t look away. The longer she spent with this girl, the more she thought that _maybe_ Razz wasn’t just all crazy. 

“Yeah,” the taller girl finally let out. “We will.” She finished with the comb and reached past Catra to lay it back on the counter. 

Catra, desperate for something to do besides stare at the other girl in the mirror, ventured a hand through her own hair and was pleasantly surprised when her fingers didn’t snag halfway through. In fact, it felt smooth and healthy for the first time since as long as she could remember. She was taken aback by how long it looked like this. “Wow.” She hadn’t meant to say it aloud, but the grin it brought to Mara’s face was worth it.

“I know,” she agreed. She laid her hands on Catra's shoulders for a brief second and Catra resisted the urge to lean into her. “Now you’ve got to get out of here. I’ve made you even later.”

“Don’t worry about it,” Catra said, and meant it. She was grateful for Mara’s kindness, and a bath and a few more minutes spent with this intriguing girl were well worth the shit she’d face at the factory. She found that her anxiety had even lessened in her presence. She wasn’t usually one to communicate things like that, but now seemed like a good time to mumble an awkward, “Thank you.”

“Anytime,” Mara responded with a smile. Their eyes lingered in the mirror for a half-second longer, and then the taller girl reached over to hold the curtain open for Catra and the brunette slipped out of the moist bathroom atmosphere. On her way to the door, Mara called from behind, “Hey. Do you want to borrow some of my shoes?”

Catra felt her shoulders begin to stiffen, but forced the tension out of her muscles. Mara was asking because she cared. Mara was trying to help. Mara didn’t pity her. She was different. 

Still, Catra couldn’t accept. It felt like an overstep. A sin. Like somehow it would be cheating to indulge in something she hadn’t earned. To shirk the trademark of her class. And she hated that, but it was what it was.

Catra took a deep breath and let it back out in a sigh. “No,” she replied, and it barely even sounded bitter. “I couldn’t.”

Mara’s lips flattened into a thin line, but she nodded without pressing. She didn’t stop Catra as she moved to the door and prepared to head out.

With her hand on the curtain, something made Catra pause and look back over her shoulder.

The scene around her sharpened and she focused in on Mara. She was hit hard, unexpectedly, with the feeling that this was somehow very familiar; extremely domestic, like she’d lived it before but far in the future. In this unknown yet familiar future, Catra somehow knew that she and Mara were something else. Something closer. Something better. She was flooded with an odd mix of longing and nostalgia, and a sudden urge made her eyes flicker down to Mara’s lips for a compromising second—long enough for her to notice. Catra's chest tightened but she wasn’t immediately sure whether that was good or bad.

Then she wrenched her gaze away, threw another quick, “Thanks,” over her shoulder—silently adding _for everything_ —and was out the door.

“See you tonight!” Mara called after her as she descended the stairs, and Catra wondered when exactly they’d decided that, but she was too pleased to care. All of the anger and suspicion that had boiled in her just a day past was largely dissipated. Something about Mara was just impossible to remain mad at. And at this point, Catra didn’t even want to stay mad. She’d had a taste of what allowing Mara into her life might mean. She’d had the odd premonition that they had a future together, somehow, somewhere, and she found that maybe it _was_ worth risking herself for something like that. Maybe ' _y_ _ou and me_ ’ did deserve a chance.

All Catra knew for sure was that her heart was lighter than it had ever been as she left Loo-Kee and ran for the factory.

She was almost able to take her mind off of the hell she knew Weaver had planned.

…

Catra walked into the factory at 8:09. Her shift was supposed to start at 7:30.

Weaver’s verdict ended up being ‘take a public beating or lose your job.’

She took the beating.

…

_I’ll see you tonight,_ Mara had called, and over the course of the day Catra had run those words over and over in her head, wondering if she was referring to her nightly patronage at Loo-Kee or something else. 

The hope of the latter was what kept her motivated enough to meet her quota for the day despite showing up more than half an hour late. It was what kept Weaver off her back after her initial punishment, and thus what saved her from losing her job that day.

She knew it was unlikely, but she still hoped.

She couldn’t wait for her shift to end so she could go and find out.

…


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Readers can have a little fluff, as a treat
> 
> but this is your last one ;)

Mara was nowhere to be seen when Catra finally made it to Loo-Kee for the night. However, as she came up to the counter, Razz eyed her with a wry smile, which gave her a little bit of hope. “One moment,” the old woman told her, and when she retreated to the kitchen Catra wasn’t sure whether she would reemerge with her noodles in hand or Mara.

It ended up being just the noodles. Catra tried not to let herself feel disappointed. She really did. But she couldn’t help but wonder, “Is, um, Mara—”

“She’ll be right out, dearie,” Razz cut her off, that smile growing.

Catra breathed a sigh of relief and then pulled a frown at herself. “Thanks, Razz,” she said, and she was just talking about the noodles. Honestly.

She picked up her bowl and shuffled off to her corner table.

Mara was, in fact, right out. She shouldered through the kitchen door with a steaming tray of food and headed for a table in the opposite corner, her eyes focused the way they got when she was on a mission. She didn’t notice Catra until she set the tray down and began passing out the bowls to the patrons around the table and her eyes flicked up almost compulsively, like she’d been watching her corner booth all night, and—

As soon as Mara laid eyes on Catra she brightened considerably, and then sobered just as fast. She finished serving the table she was currently attending and then made a beeline for her lonely seat. 

“Hey,” she greeted as she approached, leaning against the back of the booth opposite her in a forced casual stance. Her eyes flitted across Catra's face as if nervously searching for something. “Did—did you, uh?” She bit her lip and cracked the knuckles of one hand absently, nervously. “Your job?” 

Catra knew what she was trying to ask, but wasn’t sure why she looked guilty when she hadn’t done anything but help.

She gave Mara a small, dry smile. “Still got it,” she assured, feeling a twinge of warmth at the sigh of relief that left the other girl. But her back was still aching against the booth cushion, and she added without thinking, “I paid for it, though.”

Mara’s eyes widened instantly. “What do you mean?”

 _Oh shit._ Catra was torn between guilt and satisfaction at the other girl’s concern. She was beginning to find that she liked having someone care, but she did not want to let the weight of her woes crush Mara. She chewed the inside of her cheek and pushed her noodle bowl back and forth between her hands, wondering how much was too much to share.

Mara’s expression did not change; if anything only twisting further into worry as the silence stretched. “What do you mean?” she asked again at length, softer. She lowered herself into the seat across from Catra, showing that she was fully invested in the conversation, on the clock or not.

Catra let out a sigh and rubbed across her face with one hand, a lump blocking her throat all of the sudden. She looked away from Mara’s intent blue-gray eyes. “I—" she stopped and cleared her throat and sighed again. It was too much—she couldn’t tell Mara. Not now. 

“My boss is just tough,” she mumbled. “Don’t worry about it.”

The way Mara’s brows furrowed, she was definitely worrying about it, but Catra figured that ignorance would be better than the alternative.

Before the girl could pry, Catra quickly changed the subject:

“Hey, uh, when you said you’d see me tonight,” she began tentatively, raising her eyes again to gauge Mara’s reaction, “did you mean this?” She touched the table with one finger. “Or…” She trailed off, allowing Mara to catch her drift.

The other girl perked up again, pink coming to her cheeks, although Catra got the feeling she had not forgotten what they were just talking about. “I did mean this,” she admitted, but rushed on quickly: “but if there’s something else you’d rather do…” She bit her lip. “I’ll be off in an hour.”

Catra gave her a slow, crooked smile. “I’ve got time.”

“Great!” Mara responded a little shrilly, a little flustered, but eyes sparkling with excitement so pure Catra almost laughed. She got up from the table, but then leaned back down to share, “I’ve got the perfect thing. Meet you here in an hour?”

“I won’t go anywhere,” Catra confirmed, feeling her own cheeks heat against her will. Mara was _this_ pleased to spend time with her? Catra still had no idea what she saw in her. But her chest felt full enough that she didn’t much care. 

“Great,” Mara repeated as she retreated back toward the counter where Razz stood eyeing her fondly. She flashed Catra a smile before returning to her boss with a quick, “Sorry!” to which Razz just chuckled and handed her another tray of noodles ready to serve.

Catra smiled softly back and settled into her booth to wait.

Was her heart supposed to feel like that?

… 

The hour before Mara was released from work passed quickly. Maybe because Razz let her off fifteen minutes early because of _course_ she knew what was going on. Catra had to wonder why that woman was so intent on setting the two of them up. She was certainly more confident than Catra was that their relationship would lead anywhere positive. Catra was in the habit of breaking things, after all.

But she could not deny that she was excited. 

As soon as Mara emerged from the kitchen after completing her shift, Catra rose to her feet to meet her halfway across the room. Mara was grinning, and it was so bright and so beautiful it was frankly contagious. Catra couldn’t get enough of the way her blue-gray eyes sparkled.

“Hey,” she greeted, unable to fight a smile of her own.

“Hi,” replied Mara and Catra swore she bounced a little on the balls of her feet. “Are you ready to go?”

Catra let out a chuckle. “Ready as I can be when I don’t even know where we’re going.”

“Hey, it worked out last time, didn’t it?” Mara teased, nudging her with her shoulder and starting toward the door.

Catra's eyebrows shot up as she followed. “Barely! I was afraid I was going to get shanked.”

Mara looked half offended and half very concerned. She stepped out onto the stoop and held the door for Catra to exit behind her. “By me? Or the other people there?”

“Uh, yes.”

“I wouldn’t let that happen!” Mara protested. She started out in the direction of the bay, walking close to Catra. Their shoulders brushed and the contact was welcome in the cool night air. Their hands hung near enough together that Catra could have reached out and clasped them with hardly any effort.

She shoved her hands in her pockets to resist the temptation and shrugged defensively. “I didn’t know that!”

“Well, now you do,” Mara told her firmly, with enough conviction that Catra's smile grew uncontrollably. This was new. This was _nice._

“Okay, princess,” she replied, just to avoid venturing onto overly sappy territory. 

Mara just scoffed, and they continued on.

They fell into a comfortable silence as they walked, simply taking in the sights and the sounds of nighttime Republic City (which seemed different somehow with company). Catra's feet were cold on the pavement, but the rest of her was warm beside Mara. The wariness and defensiveness that had wrought the air between them until recently was dulled, if not gone entirely. Catra basked in it. _This is what I’ve been missing out on, huh,_ she thought. It didn’t feel quite like friendship yet, and she didn’t dare call it a romance. She guessed the right word for it would be _companionship._

She could get used to this.

They kept moving, and all Catra could really tell from their path was that they were heading toward the water, but she felt comfortable enough following Mara’s lead that she didn’t ask. 

Eventually, the other girl’s voice broke the silence: “Hey.”

When Catra glanced up questioningly, she found those blue-gray eyes already watching her with a mixture of tenderness and hesitance. “Yeah?” she prompted tentatively, not sure what to make of that look.

“Do you think, at this point in our relationship, you could trust me with your name?”

The question hit Catra like a slap to the back of the head. _My name!_ She hadn’t even told Mara her name! To be fair, Mara hadn’t told her her real one either, but Catra at least had something to call her. 

She hadn’t realized she’d been keeping it a secret until now. Because, yeah, she supposed that was what she was doing, without knowing it. She wasn’t in the habit of divulging personal information unless asked, and even then it felt about as enjoyable as having her teeth pulled.

But Mara, hadn’t she done enough to deserve that knowledge by now? Catra supposed so. And the way she phrased it—careful, respectful, always gentle around Catra's boundaries—it gripped Catra's heart and filled her with an unexpected warmth and made her blurt a little too enthusiastically, 

“It’s Catra!”

Mara blinked a few times in surprise and Catra grimaced, wondering when she’d stop making a fool of herself. But then the other girl broke into a wide smile and adjusted her path to walk a little closer to her, giggling, “Thank you.” And then, after a pause: “…Catra.”

Catra ducked her head to hide the look of pure pleasure that she knew was spreading over her face. She didn’t _need_ this. She couldn’t _handle_ this. Mara was going to be the death of her and Catra was going to let her.

It wouldn’t be a bad way to go.

The streets they were navigating gradually widened and straightened, and the path became better lit. The sidewalks were more crowded here and Satomobiles crawled up and down the lanes. Through the gaps in the buildings just ahead, Catra could catch sight of the mirror surface of the bay. They were still heading toward it. Catra had been here often enough to recognize the structures rising up on either side of them, but she’d never set foot inside any of them. She wondered briefly if Mara had.

As they neared the water, their path became clear to her. Dominating her field of view was a massive golden building with a glass domed top. It was brightly lit on all sides, making its walls look molten, and a pair of wide-open doors channeled a stream of people in and out. Catra knew what it was. She’d eavesdropped on a few of its radio broadcasts and she’d always perked up with interest at the mention of what went on inside. As a kid she’d always wanted a chance to see it herself, but that desire faded as more pressing problems crowded in. But now, 

Republic City’s pro-bending arena was staring her right in the face, and her childhood dreams were about to be realized.

“Wow…this is what you meant?” she asked, equal parts excited and intimidated by the prospect of going inside.

Mara watched her take in the impressive gold façade. “Do you like it? You seemed to enjoy my fight, so I thought—"

“It’s good,” Catra assured her before she could convince herself otherwise. Then she narrowed her eyes in a sly sideways glance and added, “I like it better when I get to watch you, though.”

Mara was surprised for a beat. Then she composed herself and shot back, “Well, there’s a tournament at the Quántóu Underground starting this weekend. I don’t suppose you’d want to watch me try for the grand prize?”

Catra cocked an eyebrow to hide the flutter of her heart at the mention of that opportunity. “Which is?”

Mara looked this way and that to make sure no one was listening before leaning close to Catra's ear and whispering, “Two hundred thousand yuan.”

Catra balked. “ _What?_ ” she cried before Mara shushed her and she remembered to lower her voice. “Two hundred k?” she whispered fiercely instead. “Where did they even get that kind of money?”

Mara shrugged. “Entry fees from the past year?” At Catra's skeptical look, she shrugged again more emphatically and raised her palms. “I don’t pretend to know about all the shady stuff that happens down there. I just fight to win,” she disclaimed. 

Catra chuckled in her throat and bumped Mara’s shoulder with hers, murmuring, “And you will.”

Mara avoided looking at her in an attempt to hide her blush. “We’ll see,” she grumbled modestly, then nudged Catra back and nodded toward the entrance doors. “Let’s go. It’s almost time.”

As they approached, Catra dropped her eyes from gazing at the intricate, floodlit façade and realized that there was an attendant at the door taking a few bills from every passing guest. Her heart dropped into her stomach, not for the first time.

“Don’t tell me this place has an entry fee too,” she said, more nervousness coming through in her voice than she intended. 

“We have to buy tickets,” Mara explained, then looked over at her kindly. “Don’t worry. I’ll cover it.”

“Mara, you can’t keep—“ Catra started to protest, but the line at the door was moving quickly, and they were almost to the attendant.

“I’ll win it all back at the tournament,” Mara insisted, as if that were any better. “Please. I want to treat you.”

“Mara…”

“Catra.” The other girl was unwavering. It helped that in about five seconds they would be through the door and Catra wouldn’t be able to do anything about it. The two held each other’s eyes with equal stubbornness for a moment before Mara grinned crookedly and added, “I’m sure you’ll find a way to pay me back somehow.”

Catra covered the hitch in her breath by heaving a long sigh. They stepped up to the attendant, and she watched Mara’s money leave her hand in exchange for their tickets with sour regret. She _would_ find a way to pay her back. Somehow. Eventually.

“Come on,” Mara’s voice broke her out of her funk, and the two made it inside.

The soaring lobby again made Catra tip her head back to marvel at the luxury she was standing in. 

A teardrop-shaped chandelier dominated the ceiling, illuminating two curving flights of stairs on either wall which led up to openings to the second and third levels. Directly ahead was the ground-level entrance to the arena, and through it came the dull roar of the already-gathered crowd. Catra found her nerves winding tighter as they always did in unfamiliar circumstances, but with a hint of a thrill. _This is crazy,_ her thoughts raced. _I’m really here._ With _someone. I’m really about to_ —

She lost her train of thought as she and Mara crossed the lobby and passed through the main doors into the arena itself.

The outside of the building had looked big, but the interior seemed impossibly huge from where they stood. The cavern of the intricate glass ceiling arched high over the sprawling playing arena in the center. Three levels of concrete balcony seating climbed in ascending rows up to a ring of windows circling the entire space. The light that shone through them was gold, reflected off the exterior walls by the bright floodlights, and it shined off the surface of the water pit that stood in for a floor. The press box responsible for the radio broadcasts she’d heard as a child stood directly across from their entrance, on the same plane as the huge playing platform. Catra swallowed and tried not to gawk too obviously.

“Wow. Almost as nice as the Underground,” she joked to temper her awe.

Mara, also gazing around the room beside her, sucked her teeth in distaste. “I wish. They save all the good stuff for the benders.”

Catra felt a little pang of familiar dread shoot through her and chanced a look at Mara out of the corner of her eye. Did she really think that? Did she really consider benders some uppity class? People who always got dealt a better hand? Wasn’t Catra proof of the contrary?

Mara seemed not to think twice about her comment, so Catra let it lie. Instead she watched the taller girl squint down at their tickets in the dimmed house lights and try to determine where they were supposed to sit.

“It’s, uh.” Mara glanced between the numerals on the corner of the slip and the seating sections around the room. She waved the ticket vaguely toward their left. “Over there somewhere.”

Catra snorted. “Come on, princess. Aren’t you supposed to know what you’re doing?”

“Hey, I’ve only lived here for like a month,” Mara defended. Catra laughed at her, but she still followed the other girl’s lead toward the left side of the arena.

Twenty minutes found them in a pair of empty seats that didn’t match the numbers on their tickets, but were close enough. They’d earned a few sideways looks as they climbed over the legs of the people crowded into the row ahead of them, but nobody challenged their claim.

“Want some snacks or anything?” Mara asked as they settled in, just in time. The lights dimmed even further and the center of the ring lit up in a brightly contrasting spotlight. The sharply dressed announcer was rising on a moving platform into its white rays. 

Catra's stomach practically perked up at the mention of food, but she shook her head. No more handouts from Mara tonight. Instead she sank into her seat, propped her feet up on the chair in front of her (the concrete floor was littered with popcorn remains that made her soles itch), and made herself focus on the pale man in the middle of the ring.

His voice, amplified by a corded microphone, carried stridently around the room. “Introducing the first team, the Future Industries Fire Ferrets,” he projected, gesticulating toward the moving walkway where the trio dressed in red was approaching the ring. When they’d had their chance to wave and posture to the crowd to a chorus of cheers, he pointed to the opposite side of the ring: “and their opponents, the reigning champions, the Boar-q-pines!”

That rang a bell, as it were. “Hey, wasn’t Boar-q-pine the guy who fought at the Underground the other day?” Catra murmured to the girl beside her as the crowd welcomed the team clad in brown.

Mara hummed noncommittally. “Probably. Boar-q-pines are tough and aggressive, so I guess it’s a common ‘macho fighter guy’ name,” she figured, air quotes included. Then she sat forward and propped her chin on her fist, eyes flashing in interest. “Let’s see if they live up to their name this year.”

Catra joined her in zeroing in on what was happening in the ring (though Catra was still very aware of the girl sitting in her peripheral vision). She still couldn’t quite believe that everything she was seeing and hearing was real. Everything she perceived seemed oddly heightened, like she’d just taken a hit of something stronger than má. She wasn’t sure yet whether feeling too much was better than feeling nothing at all.

Right now, she let it wash over her without concern, because somehow it felt safer with Mara beside her.

As they watched, the two pro-bending teams lined up at the center line. After a tense pause, the referee counted them off, a bell sounded, and then the platform exploded into a flurry of motion. 

It was almost dizzying to watch the benders flip and spin and bound and send their elements flying back and forth across the ring. Catra couldn’t comprehend how the competitors kept track of where everything was from one moment to another. She was sure that if she set foot in there, she’d be blasted off the back in a second. Her eyes flicked from one end of the ring to the other, trying to take in every detail at once. It hadn’t sounded this chaotic over the radio! She found herself biting her lip in concentration, legs twitching every once in a while as she pictured executing the dynamic moves herself. She was so intent on the match that Mara’s presence and the novelty of where she was right now faded into the back of her mind.

Thus for a while they didn’t speak except for the absent noises of frustration and empathy that one or the other made whenever a bender got hit particularly hard. That happened often, in the case of the team dressed in red: the Fire Ferrets. The poor souls seemed extremely off their game, if the scoreboard said anything about it. Catra wondered if they were always like this or if they were just having a bad night. 

As she watched, the fire- and waterbender on said side stumbled right into one another and gave the Boar-q-pines the chance to send them flying into the third zone. She let out a grunt of discontent and flopped back in her seat. Somewhere over the course of the match she’d begun subconsciously rooting for the poor underdogs.

“The Fire Ferrets don’t seem very good,” she observed, finally breaking the relative silence between herself and her companion.

“They usually are!” Mara cried on an explosive sigh, just as vicariously irritated as she, gesturing toward the Fire Ferrets now regrouping at the line for the second round. Their earthbending teammate had just narrowly held on to the match for them. “Ever since the Avatar joined a few weeks ago they’ve been undefeated.”

“The Avatar?” Catra echoed incredulously. She hadn’t heard that title in a while. She hadn’t believed it was real for even longer.

But Mara was raising her arm to point across the stadium to the girl with the blue marker, and assuming that really was the Avatar, she was unmistakably real—flesh-and-blood and in the midst of getting nailed with a stone disc to the chest.

But she hadn’t bended anything but water yet, so how could Catra be sure? She crossed her arms and said belligerently, “I don’t believe you.”

Mara scoffed in mock offense. “You trust me enough to tell me your name but not enough to believe me on this?”

“I’m not questioning you, I’m questioning her!” Catra corrected, flicking her hand toward the girl now running back into the ring—the one who had almost cost her team the round just moments prior. “She’ll have to bend all four elements before I believe the Avatar’s real.”

“You don’t believe the legend?” Mara sounded genuinely curious.

Catra shrugged, thankful that she didn’t seem to be judging her. People usually flew into a rage when she admitted she was a skeptic. “Never had any higher powers deign to get involved in my life. Hard to believe they’d do it to anyone else’s,” she grumbled.

“Oh? What about this?” Mara asked, pointing to her sun-colored hair. When Catra shrugged one shoulder noncommittally, she decided to press a little further. “What about…this?” She sat forward to face Catra a little more squarely and grasped her near hand.

Catra jerked out of reflex but didn’t rip her hand away—not this time. This time it didn’t scare her so much. Instead the feeling of Mara’s larger palm over hers sent a ripple through her system, shocking her nerves into overdrive, and suddenly her heart was beating fast and she could see every speck of gray in Mara’s eyes as their gazes locked. _What? What is_ this? _A connection? A mistake?_ Her jaw dropped and the first thing out was a weak, “Spirits got nothing to do with that.”

Mara watched her long enough for the noise and awareness of the crowd to fade into the background. Catra's world narrowed to the points of the girl’s eyes, her hand on hers, and the knot in her gut that she couldn’t figure out was pulling her towards Mara or away. Her hand was so _warm,_ so secure. Catra licked her lips uncomfortably and saw Mara glance down at them and then back up. Her face was coloring and Catra was glad the room was dim enough to hide her matching blush.

 _Spirits_ definitely _got nothing to do with this._

Before the tension could become unbearable, Mara cleared her throat and conceded, “If you say so.” She sat back and released Catra from her intense gaze and Catra was split between relief and disappointment.

Her hand lingered a moment longer before slipping away.

It was hard to focus back on the match while the girl next to her occupied her mind so thoroughly—what had that moment just meant? What were her intentions? Why was she being so kind to Catra when Catra had been nothing but a jerk to her? Why was Catra just as intrigued as she was terrified?—but she tried her best, just so her entry fee wouldn’t go to waste.

She kept her eyes glued stubbornly to the platform while the last round of the match played out in front of her. The Fire Ferrets managed to hang on, again thanks to their earthbender, and the scoreboard lit up in the declaration of a tie.

“What happens now?” Catra wondered aloud. She’d never listened to a match with a tie before.

“Each bender from one selected element faces off in the center to break the tie,” Mara explained without taking her eyes off the tense scene in the center of the room. Catra wondered if she was avoiding her gaze on purpose or just absorbed in the fight. “The Fire Ferrets just won the coin toss, so they get to pick which element.”

Just as Mara had said, the judge in the middle had flipped a coin and held it up with the red side facing out. At the result, the Fire Ferrets firebender made as if to step onto the center platform, but his earthbending teammate held him back by the shoulder and took his place.

“Smart move,” observed Catra. “He’s been the only one on his game all night.”

Mara made a little noise of agreement and the two virtually scooted to the edges of their seats to have a clear view of what was to go down. The rest of the crowd seemed to be doing the same; a hush fell over the crush of people as they all waited in suspense.

The earthbenders from each team stepped onto the round platform in the center of the ring, which began to rise, and the other players cleared back to give them room. The chosen Fire Ferret squared up against the corresponding Boar-q-pine in preparation for the bell.

The second it was rung, the two benders launched an exchange of high-velocity stone discs, each exploding against one another to be rendered useless. The Boar-q-pine then went for a flying kick, which the Fire Ferret rolled beneath and returned with a grapple. The older bender reversed and sent the Fire Ferret flying, but the young man who’d carried his team all night managed to retaliate with a midair strike to a knockout blow. The Boar-q-pine went soaring off the playing platform, and Catra let out a breath of relief she didn’t know she’d been holding.

Most of the crowd surged to its feet in celebration. As Mara joined in with a whoop, Catra watched her face, taking in the jubilant smile of shared victory, the shine of her eyes, the way her cheeks turned pink with her excitement—

In the midst of the deafening crowd and the crazy thrill of the match’s conclusion, it occurred to Catra that she liked the look on Mara’s face very much, and she wanted to see it again. She wanted to _cause_ it. She wanted to be able to affect her like that. 

It was then that Mara turned her head and found Catra staring at her and somehow that smile _grew_ and Catra's heart skipped a beat. If that wasn’t enough, Mara reached down and took her hand again to pull her along into the excitement.

Catra's pleasure outweighed her fear.

There was a word for what she was feeling, but that was a revelation she was not willing to face just yet. Maybe ever.

But she was perfectly content to let herself get swept up in the cheering crowd for a little while, Mara holding onto her and Catra surprising herself by holding back.

…

“I’ll walk you home.”

“Wait.” The interjection surprised Catra just as much as it did Mara. She hadn’t meant to say it aloud. But now that it was out, she cleared her throat and added meekly, “I’m not ready to…to go home yet.” She shivered, and only partly because the night had grown chilly while they were inside. Truthfully, she just didn’t want to face the darkness and loneliness of the mousehole she called home yet. It would all seem that much more oppressive after the time she’d spent with Mara.

Mara turned to her, stepping close so she could shield her from the chill wind with her taller form. “What would you like to do?” she asked, head tilted curiously, eyes soft. Something about that look told Catra that she could read straight into her insecurities. Right now that felt like a comfort rather than a weakness.

Which was almost worse. Catra was supposed to be strong. She was supposed to be a loner. She wasn’t supposed to be leaning into Mara’s protection, greedy for her warmth, but that’s what she did. When did she start letting herself feel like this?

Catra dropped her eyes with a shrug. “I don’t care,” she mumbled. _As long as it’s with you,_ was the silent addition, too raw to admit aloud. 

Mara made a little gesture like she was about to wrap her arms around Catra but decided against it. Instead she clasped her hands in front of her, forcing them under control. Catra was too much of a coward to protest.

“Well, I picked pro-bending, so it’s your turn,” Mara said with a little smile.

Catra raised her head and frowned. Her turn? She had no clue what people usually did for fun around here. It was never an option for her, so she paid no attention to what the mainstream youth did in the cleaner parts of the city. What might be an enjoyable way to pass the rest of the evening with Mara? Now as she glanced around at streets lined with shops, the prospect of spending any more of Mara’s money made her queasy, so she looked the other way. Her eyes landed on the bay.

The golden lights of the waterfront buildings reflected off the rippling surface, setting the shore to flame. The bridge to the west was lined with a walking path, and it was only lightly populated at this time of night. Its own streetlights sent spots of gold into the water just off the edge.

Catra didn’t usually have the time just to stop and appreciate beauty, so right now, the sight drew her.

“Can we just…” Hands in her pockets, she motioned with her elbow toward the bridge, “walk?”

“Sure.” Mara’s smile grew. “Let’s go.”

They struck off toward the bridge, the night air both refreshing and biting as if buffeted their skin. Again they didn’t speak, and still it wasn’t awkward. In fact, Catra was feeling subdued, calm out here in the quiet after the noise of the pro-bending arena. The distant rumble of automobile motors hardly covered the sound of their feet against the cobbles.

Soon instead they were walking on wooden planks, and here the lap and ripple of the bay water joined in the soft mix. They wandered out from the shore a ways before stopping along the railing. Here they had a perfect view of the radiant skyline; the silhouettes of tall buildings gilded in orange light against the black shape of the mountains in the background. The figures of people and Satomobiles still populating the streets seemed small and insignificant in comparison. Here, from far away, one could easily assume that everything within that shining city was just as beautiful as its soaring façade.

“The city’s so alive, even at night. Everything’s so bright,” Mara observed, a little awestruck, as she leaned her elbows against the railing. “Like having the stars right here within our reach.” Then she tipped her head back to regard the sky, the edges of her face outlined in molten light, and it was more striking than the skyline. Her voice dropped low when she added, “I can never see the stars here.”

 _Stars_.

Catra looked up, too, and tried to imagine what a star-filled sky would look like. She had only ever seen a handful on the really clear nights that the sky was black as pitch. Her earliest memories were of here, though, so she had never seen the sprawling blankets of silver dust that supposedly covered the sky in less developed parts of the world. Places where the human hand hadn’t erased so much.

And Catra still thought that the view of the city from here was beautiful, but when she thought of the natural wonders she had never gotten to witness…

“I haven’t ever really seen them,” she admitted, almost afraid of disappointing Mara with that fact.

But when the girl whipped her head around to face Catra, her surprise was touched with more excitement than offense. “You haven’t?” she blurted, and when Catra shook her head she gushed, “I should take you to my hometown, then; the night sky there is like a dream. I—” 

She stopped abruptly and closed her mouth, shoulders deflating slightly.

Catra inched closer. “What?” she questioned, confused by the sudden change.

“Sorry.” Mara turned her face away, and Catra's concern deepened. “I, uh, sometimes forget that I can’t go back there. And then I think of it and—” She bit off her words and shook her head.

“What do you mean? Why can’t you?” 

“Um. It’s complicated.”

“You don’t have to tell me,” Catra assured quickly, ”but I’ve got the time.”

“I do want to, it’s just…hard,” Mara sighed. Her eyes dropped to the water where the outline of the city was blurred; smudged; not quite as perfect. She took a long moment to gather herself, and Catra let her, surprised and breathless at the prospect of learning something about her enigmatic companion.

Mara raised her head again and her throat jumped in a swallow before she began: “I…was born in Ba Sing Se, out of wedlock, which would have been bad enough on its own, except I was born to somebody I shouldn’t have been.” She cracked her knuckles idly and then rubbed their bruised ridges when it hurt. “A…high-up official in the Earth Kingdom government. As soon as he found out, he set out to kill me—he was married, so couldn’t leave any evidence lying around, right.” 

“Spirits,” Catra breathed in horror.

Mara hummed an absent agreement. “My mother and her…her friend tried to escape with me, but my mother was killed in the attempt.” She closed her eyes briefly and Catra watched her knuckles go white as she gripped the railing. “Her name was Mara.”

That hit Catra like a punch. _No wonder this is a painful subject._ Suddenly guilty, she stammered out, “M—hey, listen, you don’t have to go on if—”

“It’s okay,” Mara cut her off a little sharply, and then closed her eyes, took a breath and tried again. “It’s okay, as long as you still want to hear it.”

By way of answer, Catra reached out and laid her hand firmly over Mara’s (that name meant so much more now that she _knew_ ) on the railing. When Mara looked up and met her eyes with shining blue-gray ones, Catra held steady, for once. She wanted to _be_ there for this girl. Mara had already sat beside her through a night of má; it was all Catra could do to repay the favor.

“I’m listening,” she said without a hint of uncertainty.

After a short, pregnant pause, Mara sighed out her tension and turned her palm over so she could squeeze Catra's hand. “Thanks, Catra,” she said softly, and then turned to face the breeze coming off the bay. She took another steadying pause before continuing: “I was raised by my mother’s friend—my mentor—in a village in the mountains southeast of here. It was better there, but they thought I was—” She stopped and shook her head shortly. “That’s a story for another time. But, I grew up in that village and lived there until my—my father caught wind of it.” She stared at her hands—at Catra's still in hers—but her gaze seemed focused far away. “That’s when I had to come here. And that’s when my mentor told me to hide my name; so he couldn’t find me again.”

“Except with someone you trust,” Catra remembered.

“Yeah,” Mara affirmed, voice falling to almost a whisper. She turned her head to regard Catra again, intently, contemplatively, like she was mulling over that decision anew. Weighing where exactly her trust stood. Her face was lit by the glow off the water and it made her appear surreal. Looking at her now, Catra thought angels were easier to believe in than spirits.

Her heartbeat was picking up as she anticipated what would come next. She had a good guess, based on the earnest look on Mara’s face and the way she opened her mouth to speak but stumbled, and she wasn’t sure she could stand it.

“What about this?” she interrupted before Mara could say anything too compromising. She reached up to flick a golden lock of the taller girl’s ponytail, referring to the so-called spirit mark.

Mara blinked, her serious look clearing. She touched the same strands as if she’d forgotten there was anything special about them. “Oh, I—that’s part of the story for another day,” she explained weakly, her brows furrowing almost in disappointment.

Catra chewed her lip, feeling a little bad but just _not_ ready for Mara to say something like _actually, it’s you I trust!_ and facing all the complications that would come with that. Instead she prodded, “So you _do_ know,” just to keep her off the topic.

Mara sighed heavily. “I know what people said,” she explained, shrugging one shoulder (her other must still have been tender from the burn), “but I never believed them.”

Catra sensed her agitation and tried to break it up: “Well, until you share, I’ll just have to assume it’s ‘cause you’re a princess.”

Mara gave her a half-annoyed and half-fond look, and Catra returned a crooked grin. It felt better to banter with the other girl; way nearer to her comfort zone. It was nice to have someone to talk with, period. Especially if they were able to make up for one another’s weaknesses: Mara gentle and level-headed where Catra was rough and angry, Catra teasing when Mara grew anxious and preoccupied. It was like they were two halves of a whole—a shaky, lopsided whole for now, maybe, but Catra was starting to think Razz may have been on to something.

“Let’s start walking back,” Mara suggested, breaking lightly into her thoughts. She glanced down at Catra's uncovered feet. “You must be cold.”

Catra shrugged off her concern but nodded in agreement. As they straightened up from the railing to leave the waterfront view behind, she bit her lip and added, “Thanks for…for spending time with me tonight. It was nice.”

 _‘Nice.' That’s the best you’ve got?_ her blunt inner thoughts berated her, but Mara’s sunny smile swept them away.

“We should do it again sometime,” she decided, although her tone made it sound more like a question.

Catra looked up with her with a small smile of her own, realizing that it didn’t give her the same twinge in her cheeks as it did just a short while ago. She bumped Mara’s shoulder with her own reassuringly. “Yeah,” she said, feeling the flicker in her chest warm her pleasantly from the inside. “I’d like that.”

Mara bumped her playfully back, and it felt like a promise.

…


	6. Chapter 6

They did do it again.

It was the middle of the week when Mara found Catra in her usual booth in the corner of Loo-Kee and slipped into the seat across from her without even asking. “Hey,” she greeted, almost shyly, like she wasn’t sure if the bond they’d forged the other night still applied. Plot twist: it did.

Catra, caught off guard by her arrival, couldn’t hold back a pleased smile. “Well, hey.”

Mara’s cheeks might have turned a little pink. She cleared her throat, fidgeted with her own fingers, and leaned over the table toward Catra. “Can I ask you for a, um, favor?”

Catra was made equal parts interested and nervous by that question. “Depends on what it is,” she responded in a silky tone, leaning forward too to narrow the distance between them. Her eyes caught on a light spray of freckles on Mara’s nose that she hadn’t noticed before. _Shit._ She totally had a thing for freckles.

“I know this wasn’t really what you meant when we said we should do something together again, but uh, want to help me, uh…” Mara must have noticed Catra staring, because her cheeks colored further. “…train? For the tournament? The first round is in two days and my sparring partner sprained his ankle so he can’t train with me tonight but I wanted to get in some—”

“All right,” agreed Catra instantly. Definitely not the second date activity she’d had in mind, but facing off with a flushed and sweaty Mara was certainly an attractive option. She grinned crookedly, “but I’ll have to go easy on you.”

“You—?” the other girl spluttered a laugh. “Okay, I see how it is. You’re on, then.”

Catra enjoyed the hint of steel that entered her blue-gray eyes. “When and where?”

“The training rooms behind the arena at the Underground,” Mara provided. “They’re on the opposite side from the lockers. And…” She trailed off, biting her lower lip to avoid looking too excited, “Tomorrow? I usually do it in the afternoons before work.”

Catra cracked her knuckles and popped her neck on either side and ignored the stutter in her heart. “Sounds good.”

…

Catra felt strange going to the Underground while it was empty, but then again, it was a relief not to have to worry about a throng of potential Equalists getting on her case. She found the empty storefront, descended the stairs, passed through the tunnel to the unguarded entry door, and headed into the main cavern without a hitch. Inside, the huge room was dark except for a light glowing above an opening opposite the lockers; presumably the training room Mara had described. Catra began descending the leveled path toward it, skin crawling at the way her footsteps echoed hauntingly in the empty space. She hoped Mara was here already. She wasn’t too keen on waiting around alone in a creepy underground gym (although, if Mara _was_ here, Catra figured that’s exactly what she’d been making _her_ do). That thought made her pick up her pace, and she hurried across the floor of the arena to the lit opening.

Like on the other side of the cavern, a short hallway led her to an offshoot room with a low ceiling, but this one was twice as large as the other.

The walls were stone, as was everything down here. The floor was covered in thick matting that may have once been white, but was now a faded cream color. A row of punching bags hung along the near wall, a rack of weights and a mirror against the far one, and a padlocked floor-to-ceiling cabinet stood at the end between them. Everything looked worn and secondhand but functional. 

It was much better-lit in here than the locker area. Thus, on Catra's first scan of the room, she caught a perfect view of Mara at the weights, her back to the door and her duffel bag by her feet. The girl’s rippling muscles gleamed already beneath a light layer of perspiration, likely a product of the dumbbell in each hand. 

_Warming up for a crushing defeat,_ Catra joked to herself, but she actually had to swallow hard before words would cooperate. “Hey, Mara,” she said, and the padded floors absorbed the sound as soon as it passed her lips.

Mara still heard her. 

She spun, letting her arms fall to her sides and the weights with them, a pleased grin on her face. Catra was a little taken aback by her apparent excitement. Had she expected her not to show?

“Hey. Come to have your butt kicked?” the sun-haired girl shot back, and it was so like Catra's thought from just moments ago that she laughed aloud at the similarity.

 _Some team we are,_ she thought fondly, and then balked, wondering when exactly she’d started thinking of them as a team at all. She shook off her discomfort quickly and answered with a saucy strut toward the other girl: “I’m not sure I remember _that_ being our agreement, but I’m up for some butt stuff.” She showed one canine in a teasing half-smile and enjoyed the intensifying flush on Mara’s face.

“We’ll see about that,” the taller girl said, bending to deposit her weights on the rack against the mirror and then turning with hands on hips. “Ready to warm up?”

“Aren’t you already plenty warm?” Catra replied cheekily.

Mara snorted. “It’s you I’m worried about. Come on, let’s stretch out.” She led the way to the center of the matted floor and began to stretch her muscles, first with static arm and leg stretches and then a few twists and swings of each for good measure. Catra wasn’t well-versed in the ways of the gym goddess, so she just pulled a few basic poses until she felt limber.

Afterward, Mara returned to her duffel bag to draw out a roll of cloth strips for her fists. As she started to wrap them up, Catra switched to a more dynamic warmup.

“So…how intense a bout are we talking, here?” she asked casually as she hopped on the balls of her feet, getting comfortable with her fighting form. It had been a while since she’d needed to fight anybody, so she was slightly rusty. She was thinking of the fading bruises still lining Mara’s knuckles from her last match; wondering if she was about to collect some more.

Mara shrugged, silent until she’d finished with her hands and paced over to a heavy bag hanging by the wall to throw a few warmup punches. “Usually it’s full contact, but my training partner wears pads and they’re locked up right now, so I’ll pull my punches a bit for you,” she said in the midst of a one-two-three combo. She threw Catra a quick, sly look. “Unless you want a few bruises to remember me by.”

Catra's eyebrows shot up. “I wouldn’t mind that,” she shot back, laying on the bravado thick so Mara wouldn’t notice that she was actually serious.

The other girl just gave her a laugh and a flashing glance as she continued pounding away at the heavy bag for another few moments. When her breathing began to get the slightest bit labored, she broke away and headed toward the center of the mat where Catra stood, rolling her shoulders and shaking her arms out. Catra did _not_ start to get a little bit excited at the prospect of ‘flushed and sweaty Mara’ again. To focus herself, she began taking deep, steadying breaths to rein in her chi, burying it far beneath the surface so that she wouldn’t lash out and burn Mara (again) by accident while they sparred. 

“Ready?” asked Mara with a little smirk as they took up positions across from each other on the mat, just out of arms’ reach. She fell into her fighting stance and raised her fists, and Catra felt her heart skip.

She spread her feet for a secure base and raised her own hands in a lower, more fluid version of Mara’s posture. “Are you?” she returned, again showing a wicked canine.

Mara’s eyes went intense, and that was all the warning Catra got before the fighter propelled herself into combat.

Mara led with an experimental combo intended more as a test than a commitment. Catra wove between her flying fists with ease and shot out a quick front kick just to encourage Mara to keep her distance. The two circled, Catra's heart pumping loud in her ears and Mara’s breath coming deep and even; trancelike; totally focused.

Catra initiated their second exchange. She darted in, tried a backhanded punch that Mara blocked, and then twisted quickly to bring her other elbow around. That too was blocked, so she went for a hook and a sneak jab right on its tail. Mara dodged deftly and countered with a ducking punch toward her gut. Catra hopped back to avoid it and then sidestepped the jump kick that followed. Too late, she tried catching Mara’s foot to throw her off balance, but it only put her in the line of fire of a second, quick snap of the leg which hit her solidly across the chest.

Catra stumbled back and Mara retreated to let her regain her balance.

The two went on like that for a while, each toying with each other without doing any real damage, sizing each other up as opponents. Up close, standing opposite Mara’s precise, deadly fists, Catra found them even more intimidating than from across a ring. She noticed the same things she had while she was watching the other girl’s match, though. Mara never moved to an extreme unless it was absolutely necessary, preferring to use her opponent’s attacks against them rather than initiating any herself, but when she did, her strikes were quick and measured. Patterned. Predictable.

Mara fought smart, for an arena brawler who could afford to take her time. But she did not fight street smart.

Catra, on the other hand, had had to learn to fight street smart pretty early on. Which meant she had the advantage of unpredictability.

And she intended to use it.

She shifted lightly on the balls of her feet, to and fro, luring Mara into a false sense of security by holding a steady rhythm. At the same time, though, she was watching and waiting, analyzing the other girl for an opening. She knew she would get one if she went in for an attack and diverted her move into a feint; led Mara in the wrong direction before lashing out from the other side, but she also knew that that would probably earn her a hit in response.

She decided it would be worth it to catch Mara off guard for once.

Catra waited and circled and bounced for a heartbeat longer—two, three—and then made her move.

She sent a jab toward Mara’s high line. The other girl immediately lifted her forearm to block; came around with her other arm for a cross toward the stomach. Catra twisted at the last second, opening her fist to catch Mara’s defensive wrist and lunging in to bring her forward foot behind the taller girl’s knee. Mara’s punch landed—there was the hit. But Catra was hooking her foot around Mara’s leg and kicking her off balance at the same time she wrenched her wrist in the other direction, and the sudden move sent the brawler spinning to the mat.

Mara landed on her stomach with an _oof_ as Catra settled back into a normal stance, rubbing the place on her side where the other girl’s fist had caught her. She was breathing heavy and her neck prickled at the irrational fear that Mara might be angry at being knocked down.

But when the other girl rolled over and sat up on her elbows, there was a grin growing behind her flyaway hairs. “That was good! Sneaky,” she panted. Then she reached up to smooth back those bothersome strands and tilted her head. “Where did you learn to fight like that?”

Catra stiffened with her hand still massaging the sore spot under her tunic. “I—” _really don’t want to talk about that,_ she finished internally. It hadn’t exactly been a pretty process. It had started in her early days around the triads, watching members brawl over the slightest slights and the most grievous griefs and everything in between, then practicing the forms sloppily on her own. Then, when a nasty gangster had discovered her peeking from the mouth of the next alley over, she’d had to put that practice to use. Most of her ‘training’ had happened that way: playing for stakes, the stakes being her health. “I didn’t really learn it from anyone in particular,” she settled for saying vaguely.

Mara looked confused, but rather than let her gather her thoughts to pry, Catra stepped over and offered her her hand. “Come on. That was hardly a bout,” she deflected teasingly.

The other girl scoffed, but accepted the gesture and rose to her feet. Once upright she brushed off the front of her shirt, then the back of her breeches. Her blue-gray eyes flicked up and met Catra's. “Ready to go again?”

Catra allowed her a toothy smile. “Sure, princess. Are you?”

“Try me.”

That phrase kicked Catra's heart into high gear as they squared up again and then launched into a second bout.

This time around, Mara was more cautious. Her counters were more hesitant, her guard always up even if it looked like Catra wasn’t about to try anything. Her feet moved a little more on the mat, breaking from their usual routine of waiting and reacting. Her ponytail swung hypnotically behind her and between that and her muscles and her steely eyes, Catra was finding it hard to focus.

She surged onto the offensive to reorient herself.

Her first one-two punch was blocked, which she’d planned for. She immediately switched tack and dropped down to swing her foot out to catch Mara’s ankles. When the other girl jumped over it, Catra threw herself into a handstand kick that turned into a back walkover when it too missed its mark. As soon as she regained her footing she launched forward with her elbow out. Mara caught it and pushed it to the side with one hand and lashed out with the other towards Catra's face. Catra ducked out of the way fast and let Mara’s push lend her the momentum for a side flip that stopped halfway when she wrapped her legs round Mara’s neck. The fighter staggered under the sudden weight and Catra used her imbalance to cinch her abs and pull her to the ground, where she rolled atop her. Mara didn’t give her time to get comfortable, instead bucking up hard enough to send her sprawling off and then reversing their positions. Catra found herself pinned by the heavier girl with a forearm against her throat. She panicked, gripping with her legs around Mara’s waist and locking her ankles to prepare for a reversal, but when Mara pressed down warningly against her airway she reluctantly slackened her hold.

That left them tangled together on the mat, Catra's legs loosely around Mara, who hovered over her, face flushed, hair hanging down to brush her skin. Their bodies were already hot from the exertion but pressed together like this, they positively burned. As Catra stared up into blue-gray eyes and felt her heartbeat begin to race with something other than the panic of feeling trapped, new anxiety gripped her. What was that look in Mara’s eyes? Why wasn’t she getting up? Why was her forearm slowly slipping away in favor of grasping Catra's shoulder with her hand? Did she just—did she just glance at her _lips?_

Catra couldn’t really tell, because she was starting to stare at Mara’s mouth, too.

Damn this girl.

Before the heat spreading up from her middle could overwhelm her, Catra cleared her throat and gave Mara a healthy shove to the chest. The other girl sat back quickly as if caught off guard, blinking away the haze in her eyes.

“Sorry.”

“It’s a fight, Mara. You don’t have to apologize,” Catra said gruffly, even though she knew that wasn’t what the girl meant. She sat up and slid out from beneath her, brushing herself off where she’d been pressed against the worn-out mat. She did _not_ miss the feeling of Mara’s weight on top of her. Seriously.

She licked her lips and adjusted her belt just to have something harmless to do with her hands. “Again?” she prompted.

Mara’s face relaxed into a more familiar expression: that stupid cocky smile. “What, you don’t want to end on a loss?”

Catra curled her lip. “We have to break the tie, don’t we?”

“Fair enough,” Mara shrugged, but her lips were still graced with that dumb smirk.

Catra felt a little shaky as they returned to their starting spots opposite each other on the mat. She really was rusty at this (and that was all). It was refreshing, though—enjoyable, even—to practice her self-defense here, safe underground, with someone she trusted not to hurt her too badly. It was even better to test herself against the so-called legendary warrior goddess of the Quántóu Underground and witness her skill up close. If she lost, it was justified, and if she won it was a huge point of pride. Win-win.

The only problem was that she couldn’t trick herself into believing that the buzz she felt all over was just because of the fighting. Catra liked being down here alone with Mara for other reasons, too. She just refused to acknowledge it.

She pressed her thoughts down into the recesses of her mind for the thousandth time as she and the source of her problems faced off again.

At this point, both of them were feeling the strain of holding a fighting crouch, and Catra sought a breather by striking up a conversation.

“So what are you going to do with all that prize money when you win?” she asked as she circled her opponent, eyes trained on her fists for the slightest hint of danger.

A grin spread instantly over Mara’s face at her use of _when,_ not _if._ She shifted her footing too and ran her hand over her hair to smooth down the flyaways again. “I don’t know. Buy myself somewhere to live besides the upstairs of a noodle shop, probably,” she said with a chuckle that said she was only half joking. In the pause that came after, her eyes sharpened in the slightest tell that she was about to launch a strike, and Catra tensed. Then: “and you, too.”

Catra staggered in surprise and it let Mara successfully land a too-hard punch to her diaphragm. 

“Sorry!” she cried as Catra doubled over, coughing. “Are you—?”

“Did you just say for me, too?” the brunette demanded as she recovered just enough air to speak. Her face was blazing and she didn’t know if it was from exertion or shock or embarrassment or that other thing she couldn’t name. “You want to buy me a place?”

Mara’s body lost its tension as she shrank back slightly, looking suddenly less sure. “I mean, yes? The grand prize is a lot of money, Catra. It wouldn’t be a problem to—”

“It’s a problem for me! You can’t just—” Catra huffed explosively, straightening up and dropping her fighting stance entirely. “—just give me _charity._ That’s your money, Mara, and I’m not going to—to take it from you.”

“I’m _offering_ it,” argued Mara, lowering her fists as well. “I care about you, Catra, and I want you to be comfortable. Living in some old, busted drug den can’t be your normal forever.”

“It has been so far!” Catra's voice came out too sharp, too harsh, and immediately she deflated in regret. “Just—please. I’m fine. Don’t waste your money on me.”

“At least let me buy you a pair of shoes.”

“No! It’s—” Catra's irritation came flooding back full force. “Why don’t you _get_ it?” She shoved her fingers into her tangled hair and then ran them down her face. “It’s embarrassing enough to live like this in the first place. But having someone… _pity_ you so much that they try to fix it all for you is even worse, somehow.”

Mara gave a little sigh that certainly sounded like pity, even as she said, “It’s not pity, Catra, it’s just me trying to help you.”

“Well, I don’t need your help.” Catra bristled, balling her fists and glaring at the ground because she _knew_ how ungrateful and belligerent she sounded, but this was not something she was willing to let Mara do. For both their sakes.

For a while Mara was silent. At length she stepped forward, crossing the distance to Catra over the mat, and Catra resisted the urge to look up; to keep a bead on her opponent, because they weren’t _supposed_ to be opponents anymore. Mara stopped in front of her and Catra could feel the heat coming off her body, a product of their recent activity. Then she reached out a hand and it came up beneath Catra's chin, lifting it so she had to look into those steady blue-gray eyes. What she said was the last thing Catra expected.

“Live with me.”

Catra's eyes widened. Before she could spook, Mara rushed on: “I know we hardly know each other, but I can’t just leave someone I care about in a shitty situation when I know I can fix it.” She paused and bit her lip. “If you don’t want me buying you anything, at least stay with me so I know you’re safe. You can—I don’t know—pay me for some of the rent, if you want.”

“Mara…”

“I know it’s a lot. And I know I’m not even guaranteed the money. But please, think about it.” Her hand was still against Catra's chin, so gentle, and in the pause that hung between them, she ran her thumb along her skin briefly. “You…you deserve better than the hand you’ve been dealt.”

Catra's throat was dry. She tried to swallow and it hurt. When she spoke, her voice was scratchy. “So do you.”

Mara blinked as if surprised and her lips parted, drawing Catra's gaze, and her hand refused to fall away, and they were so _close_ and they were all alone down here and Catra was getting the urge to do something really foolish and—

“Let’s, uh—” Mara cleared her throat and stepped back, turning her face away. Catra cursed herself. She must have been staring way more openly than she’d thought. _Get it together, you useless piece of shit._

Mara fell back into a crouch. “Let’s go again.”

Catra complied, because what else could she do?

This time when they began, Catra was in such a flustered state of mind that she rushed in without gauging Mara’s defense first. Thus she committed too soon to a spinning kick that ended up being her downfall, because Mara intercepted it easily midair, and just as Catra was twisting to get free she shot out her fist and caught her right in the middle of the lower back— _right_ where Weaver had hit her the other day.

“ _Fuck!_ ” Catra's legs buckled as she landed and she collapsed to her knees, hissing and writhing and grasping at her inflamed back before she could get a handle on the pain.

“What? Catra, what?” Mara questioned frantically, rushing to her side where she dropped to one knee next to her. “What’s—?” She reached out, but—

“No!” Catra batted her hand away and doubled over so she could press her forehead against the ground and breathe. Her whole back throbbed, and the worst places burned where they’d been stretched by the impact. She tried to determine if she could feel any blood on the surface, but her nerves were fried by pain.

Mara hovered over her, unsure of what to do. “Did you land wrong? I didn’t hit you that hard; it shouldn’t’ve—”

“It wasn’t you,” Catra growled out between clenched teeth. Her fist tightened, too, jagged nails digging in to distract her from the other pain. 

“Tell me what to do,” the other girl begged, hands spread inches from Catra's curled body, useless if she didn’t know how to help.

But this wasn’t really something she could help.

“Just leave it. I’m fine.” For the first time since they’d smoothed out the rocky start to their relationship, Catra really just wanted the other girl to _go away._

But, “You’re not!” cried Mara, panic edging into her voice. “Let me—” She grasped the edge of Catra's shirt to assess the damage, and Catra tried to twist away before she could lift it, but—

“Oh my spirits.”

Catra went still. No point in struggling anymore. Mara had seen it all.

“What is this from?” the golden-haired girl asked in a trembling voice, unable to tear her eyes from the now-revealed mottled, scarred plane of Catra's back. She reached out with her other hand to brush her fingers over the newest scar gently, hardly believing what she was seeing.

Catra rolled over defeatedly, letting out a long hiss of breath as her bare back came to rest against the cool mat. The action removed her exposed skin from within range of Mara’s touch and placed her belly under it instead. Now she was just lying there, the other girl kneeling above her again with her hair molten against the light and her hand burning against her abdomen, so similar yet so different from the position they’d found themselves in just minutes ago.

“Take a guess,” she croaked, no choice but to come out with the truth now.

Mara paused a moment, searching her face, trying to think. Then abruptly her eyes widened and her hand tightened on Catra's shirt. “Is this what you meant about your job? About ‘paying for it?’” she asked, voice rising in pitch as she realized.

Catra's silence was answer enough.

The other girl’s jaw clenched and she looked away. “Yeah,” she managed through her teeth as her nostrils flared to keep her anger under control. When she looked back down at Catra, there was steel in her eyes. “Yeah, you’re going to let me help you.”

And Catra, with her aching back to the floor and no strength left to push Mara’s hand off her body or even protest, had to agree.

…


	7. Chapter 7

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> let the pains begin

The next day was Friday: the first round of the tournament.

Catra was buzzing with nervous anticipation at the thought of seeing Mara fight again. All throughout her day at work, she found herself focusing on that feeling in order to fuel her lightning stream. She thought of Mara’s precision; her skill; her effortless form; her capable musculature; the look in her _eyes._

She still received a rush of heat whenever she thought of the first time they’d locked eyes across the ring. She channeled it into her bending.

She also thought of the time they’d spent after that: first slouched together on Catra's couch, tension and conflict still lacing the air between them until má overwhelmed Catra's anger and she discovered just how welcome company could be. Mara helping her save her job, showing that she truly cared, adding the bonus of gentle fingers in her hair. The two of them wandering through the streetlit evening together, learning more about each other piece by piece. And finally, yesterday, when Mara swore to help Catra—to protect her—through the shitstorm of her life.

Her lightning was brighter, hotter than usual today.

… 

She got off work just in time to throw down a meal at Loo-Kee before striking off toward the Underground. Mara had agreed to meet her at the bottom of the stairs to the tunnel, promising that it was more important for Catra to get in free than it was for her to spend the extra time warming up. Catra kept her pace brisk anyway so that she wouldn’t have to wait long.

When she navigated the way to the hidden staircase and emerged at the entrance to the tunnel, Mara’s golden mane caught her eye from the side instantly. The girl was leaned up against the side of the tunnel, arms crossed and one foot propped on the wall behind her. It was…disturbingly sexy. 

Mara had been watching the doorway, so she laid eyes on Catra at the same time and broke into an immediate grin. That _still_ sent Catra's heart jumping. “Hey,” the bombshell said cheerfully, all too casual, and Catra allowed a crooked smile of her own.

“Hi, princess. Are you ready to knock some heads?”

Mara chuckled deep in her throat. “Just one head tonight. But yeah,” she bumped Catra's shoulder playfully as she fell into step beside her and they started round the bend to the guarded door. “I am.”

“Who are you fighting tonight?” Catra asked more out of a desire to hear Mara’s voice again than to actually know.

Mara gave a reflective hum as she thought through the brackets for the night, trying to remember a detail she obviously hadn’t put that much stock in. “Some girl from Dragon Flats,” she recalled. “Forgot her stage name, though.”

Catra was familiar with Dragon Flats. Her den wasn’t too far from it. She chose to focus on a different detail. “There are other girls down here?” she asked, a bit surprised, not because girls couldn’t fight but just because she’d seen precious few in the crowd during her time here. All of the fighters she’d witnessed were male, too. If she was being honest with herself, she had kind of just subconsciously assumed that Mara was the queen of the establishment, as it were.

Mara nodded. “A couple.” Then she aimed a sly look at Catra, mouth twitching up at the corner, and teased, “Should I be worried?”

“That I’m going to like them better than you?” Catra snorted to disguise the color coming to her cheeks. “No, princess. You’ve got nothing to worry about.”

Mara’s little smile broadened into a bright grin.

_Me, on the other hand…_

… 

The girl from Dragon Flats called herself the Horde Soldier, though Catra had no clue what horde she was a part of or what war she was a soldier in. Probably a code name for one of the triads in her part of town. She was dark-skinned, light-eyed, and competent enough, but still no match for Shira.

The fight was over almost as soon as it began, as the hotheaded Soldier rushed into every exchange like she had a personal vendetta, and Mara unfailingly countered every move. Once, she even used the girl’s own fist to punch her in the face. Catra admired the Soldier’s persistence, but the poor girl caused herself more harm than good by meeting Shira head-on like that. She winced at the counter to the gut followed by a spinning knockout kick than sent the girl sprawling to the ground for good.

“The warrior goddess Shira is once again your winner!” the announcer yelled as he ran in to swoop Mara’s arm into the air. A team of volunteers shuffled behind him to bear the Horde Soldier off to the lockers to recover. Catra silently wished her well.

The crowd’s reaction to Mara’s victory was even stronger than it had been the first time Catra watched. The stands were packed with viewers here for the tournament, and it certainly made a difference in the way their ruckus made Catra's ears ring. Mara was smiling tightly under their praise, letting the announcer turn her around to each side of the arena to cater to the whole crowd. When she faced Catra's direction, though, her attention slipped away from the throng in favor of holding Catra's eyes across the room.

Catra tried not to have an aneurysm and gave her a genuine thumbs-up.

Mara kept looking at her until the announcer released her and moved on to introduce the next fight.

Catra knew that the match against the Horde Soldier was Mara’s only fight scheduled for her tonight, so afterward the fighter was free to shower in the single stall in the back room and then join Catra in the stands. A quarter of an hour passed before Catra spotted her bounding up toward her from the lockers, as energetic as if she hadn’t just spent a grueling several minutes locked in combat, and bit her lip against a fond smile.

“I have to get an idea of who I’ll be up against in the semifinals,” Mara explained as she reached Catra's spot and took a seat by her side.

Catra hadn’t asked.

It sounded like an excuse.

She didn’t really mind.

She enjoyed the other girl’s presence by her side, even if they didn’t really speak for favor of watching the second bracket of the night. Mara’s aura was steady; protective. Warm. Catra could basically feel the radiation even though they weren’t sitting all that close. It helped unwind the tight knot in her chest that seemed a permanent feature. Mara, too, seemed more relaxed than usual; content after her victory.

It was nice.

All of this was nice.

At least, until she noticed Shady Shin sitting halfway around the amphitheater, a level or two up from them, his pockets definitely bulging with a healthy stock of má.

 _Oh, shit,_ was the first thing through her head. 

Because now that she’d seen him, she wasn’t going to be able to stop thinking about how she might be able to go over there and get supplies; just a bag or two to make up for the appointment she’d missed. Just enough for a little while.

She’d rationed her stock to last for four days, but that was only providing for the mornings she had work. There was nothing to get her through the evenings or weekend except Razz’s odd bottle of baijiu. Why shouldn’t she go get some more? Shin was in the same room as her. He was _right there._ She was sure she could distract Mara long enough to buy her a moment to go see him. She was sure she could go scratch her itch and be back without anyone noticing.

She willed Shin silently to look back at her so they could communicate. What if she just?—

“Catra,” broke into her unwilling reverie.

“Huh?” She jumped and looked toward the source. Mara was regarding her with concern, sky eyes searching her face.

“What’s got you so distracted?” she asked, and when her gaze shifted past Catra to scan the crowd for the perpetrator, Catra leaned instinctively to block her view.

“N-nothing.”

Mara’s brows lowered. “No one is giving you trouble, are they? Because I—”

“No,” Catra cut her off quickly. She was equal parts warmed by Mara’s sentiment and chilled by the guilt of hiding the truth. “It’s nothing. I’m just exhausted.”

Mara’s mouth thinned into a contemplative line as she considered what was obviously a lie. She tried to glance past Catra again, but the brunette made sure she could not spot the figure she was looking for. She gave up with a sigh and settled for studying Catra's multihued eyes with tenderness. “Should we go, then?” 

“I—” Catra glanced back over her shoulder, her reasonable side screaming _yes!_ but the rest of her begging _no._

She wanted to go meet Shin, just to secure herself a safety net for the next several days, just to make _sure_ she wouldn’t have to suffer the demons that came for her some nights, but—

She looked at Mara again, desperate indecision written all across her face in a silent plea: _choose for me so I don’t have to._

And Mara seemed to understand without really understanding. Wordlessly she stood from the stone bench and reached out her hand, and for once Catra willingly took it.

Catra refused to look back at Shin as they left.

The way out of the Underground was a blur, mostly because her mind kept wandering infuriatingly to the opportunity she was leaving behind—but, she reminded herself like a mantra, this was better. Being clean was better. Being with Mara was better.

Catra clung to her hand a little tighter than was necessary as they walked and didn’t even have the awareness to feel embarrassed about it.

As they emerged on the surface and tracked their way through the city streets, Catra wasn’t really paying attention to where they were going, so when Mara halted at length and she raised her head to see the entrance to a bar standing before them, she was mildly surprised.

Also interested. Maybe a little alcohol would help temper her hunger for má. If she was inebriated, she wouldn’t need to be high, too, right?

“I like to come here after matches sometimes,” Mara bent her neck to say in her ear, because the clamor of voices and music wafting from the establishment was impressive.

Catra raised her brows. She hadn’t gotten the impression that Mara was a drinking girl. Although, she also hadn’t expected her to be an underground brawler, either. She shrugged off the surprise and motioned for the other girl to lead them in.

Stepping inside wasn’t as jarring as she’d expected. It was loud, sure, and neon lights cut through the darkness, but it was tastefully managed with the bar on the near side and the dance floor on the far so that entering guests wouldn’t immediately be swept away. The lack of fistfights and má smoke told her that this must be a higher-class dive than she would normally brave.

That and the shining surfaces that lined every part of the room.

By a wordless agreement, Catra found them a two-seater table near the wall on the bar side of the establishment while Mara approached the bar itself to order them a pair of drinks. The service was as fast as the decor was fancy, and the brawler was placing a bottle down in front of Catra and sliding into her seat within a minute.

Nursing her alcohol in the safety of her seat, Catra got the chance to better soak in the details of the bar. Bright Moon, it was called, and the steel countertops reflecting the blue luminance of the neon lights above definitely alluded to its namesake. It was much nicer than the ruins of the Fright Zone above her den. She didn’t fit in here, she knew, but with Mara across from her she didn’t feel as anxious about that as she should have.

She relaxed back into her seat and enjoyed her drink and the atmosphere and Mara, thoughts of Shin temporarily fading into the background.

It wasn’t until they’d finished their first drinks and started on a second round that either of them spoke.

“Good job tonight,” Catra felt the need to say, because she couldn’t stop thinking about the way Mara had sexily pounded that Horde girl into the turf earlier. That and the glow of her clouding eyes in the blue light.

The corners of Mara’s mouth turned up but she didn’t allow herself to look too pleased yet. “I’ve still got a long way to go.”

Catra snorted. “If all the folks down there fight like that girl did, you could crush them with your little toe.”

That made Mara throw her head back and genuinely laugh. “Thanks,” she said once she’d composed herself to just giggles. “I had a very good mentor.”

“The one at your old village?” Catra asked, seeing an opening for information and taking it.

Mara’s eyes shadowed but she didn’t close herself off like she had the other night. She hummed an affirmative and took a big sip of her drink as if to steady herself. “Her name was—is—Light Hope. Which is ironic. She was the most pessimistic, stonefaced, robotic woman you’d ever meet.” Those blue-gray eyes turned a little distant, and Catra wondered if it was due to old memories or the effects of her drink. “She was a good mentor, though,” she repeated. “Taught me everything I know.”

“About fighting?” Catra clarified.

“Yeah!” Mara blurted, jumping a little in her seat as if caught off guard. “About fighting. Just fighting. I know about other things too. That she didn’t teach me.” Her cheeks were going pink and it had to be the alcohol. Her tolerance was apparently way lower than Catra's if she was getting tipsy after a drink and a half.

Catra rested her chin on her palm and watched her flounder adorably. She debated pressing that topic, but instead took mercy on the other girl and asked, “Why did you have to learn how to fight?”

“Oh.” Mara’s expression went somber again. She took a long drink, reaching the bottom of her second bottle. “In case my father came back. Of course.” She was looking at the shining tabletop, avoiding Catra's eyes, and the brunette decided again not to press, even though that story seemed just the least bit unrealistic.

“So,” she redirected, flagging down the nearest waiter (this place was so rich it had _waiters_ ) for another round of drinks. She only felt slightly bad about neglecting to ask Mara first, but she was bent on drowning her thoughts of má (and maybe encouraging the other girl to keep talking as well). “Why Republic City?”

Mara took the third drink the waiter set down and sipped from it without even noticing that it was new. Catra grimaced and felt a little worse. “I thought there would be a lot of opportunity here,” the sun-haired girl explained. “To get a job. And to blend in.” She finally looked up and met Catra's eyes and hers were a little cloudy; very intense. “And maybe meet someone.”

Catra looked away quickly, flushing completely independently of the alcohol. Maybe ordering Mara that third drink hadn’t been such a good idea. She was getting a little _too_ honest, now. But at the same time… 

Catra cleared her throat. “Um. Well. Looks like you haven’t had any trouble with that.”

“I don’t know. I’ve had my fair share of…resistance.” Mara took a swig of her drink as if to punctuate her words. Then another.

Catra felt herself color even darker and was grateful for the blue-tinted lights of the bar. There was no way Mara hadn’t meant something very pointed with that comment, and Catra wasn’t ready to face her implication. She wasn’t ready to face her own feelings in response to it.

So instead she picked up her own drink and tipped her head back to take a long, deep draft. Smothering her emotions with alcohol was something she was much more comfortable with.

But when she came back down, the tension hadn’t dissipated. Now instead, Mara was simply staring at her, her chin in her hand and her eyes heavy lidded. 

_Spirits._ The way the blue light was catching on her sky-colored irises was nothing short of stunning. For a split second, Catra's eyes flitted down to her lips and her alcohol-addled brain wondered _what if?_

Then she regained a hold of herself and dropped her gaze to her own bottle of booze. She decided to distract herself from uncomfortable feelings with an arguably equally uncomfortable topic, because she figured now was as good a time as any to answer the question that had been worrying at the back of her mind.

“Mara,” she started, more to gather her own wits than anything. She kept her eyes down but she could feel Mara’s on her. “Are you, um…” Shit. Now that she’d started, she didn’t want to finish, but she couldn’t just leave the other girl hanging. She grimaced at her drink. “Are you an Equalist?”

“Hmm?” Mara gave a confused little hum and blinked out of her reverie. She shook her head, but Catra wasn’t mollified until she went on: “No. Of course not. Why would I be?”

Catra shrugged. “Well, I mean, the Underground seems like it’s pretty sympathetic to their cause,” she said carefully, thinking of the comment Mara had made at the pro-bending arena. Maybe it really had just been an offhand thing. The thought brought her some relief.

“A lot of Equalists watch the fights,” Mara admitted, resting her chin on the rim of her bottle and rocking it side to side absently, “but I’m not one. My mentor is a bender. I had friends who were benders.” Her eyes brightened. “You’re a bender. See, I don’t hate benders.”

Catra bit her lip against a smile. Mara was sort of cute like this. Concerning, but cute. “So if there was…trouble with me and the Equalists, ever,” she continued tentatively, “would you, you know, take my side?”

“Yeah,” Mara burst out a little too loud. She basically lunged across the table to grasp Catra's hand and fix her with earnest eyes. “Yeah, I like you better than Equalists.”

“Shh,” cautioned Catra, patting Mara’s overenthused hand with her free one. “You never know who’s listening.”

“Oh, right,” Mara dropped her voice to a whisper. Then she leaned in further and said again, quietly this time, “I like you better than them.”

This time Catra, inhibitions relieved by alcohol and Mara’s words, couldn’t hold back her smile. As soon as Mara saw it, she started to smile, too, and then giggle. The sound was so contagious that Catra had to laugh too, which made Mara laugh harder and the two devolved into fits of mirth for no reason at all until their ribs ached.

Catra tried to catch her breath and failed as she stared into Mara’s shining eyes and it occurred to her that maybe she should have held off on that third drink, too.

This girl was going to be the death of her.

She took another gulp of alcohol and welcomed her fate.

… 

They had just stepped outside when Mara turned to her and blurted, “Come back with me.”

“To your place?” Catra questioned, aghast. At the other girl’s nod, she retreated, palms raised. She wasn’t willing to go _that_ far tonight. “Mara—I don’t think—”

“We’ve talked about this. Where else will you go?” Mara cut her off, leaning too far into her space.

“I—” Catra wanted to be angry, because what they’d _talked_ about was only _if_ Mara won the tournament, and even then they would be living somewhere else, not her _current_ place, which felt much too intimate, and she’d just touched a tender topic, but Mara was drunk, and—

And she was too close, and her eyes too heavy, and her lips too red, and—

And Catra _wanted_ to join her.

When did that happen?

All the indignance deflated out of her as she realized she wasn’t going to be able to beat temptation this time. Not with three drinks in her system. “Fine,” she sighed.

The grin she earned was blinding. Catra wished Mara would use it more when she was sober. It looked good on her.

“—but I’m taking the floor.”

Mara didn’t answer, which sounded like she didn’t really agree and that certainly didn’t do anything to calm Catra's racing heart. _Definitely should have passed on the third drink._

Mara leaned on Catra's shoulder to remain walking in a straight line on the way back. She wasn’t blackout drunk, but she’d obviously had enough to knock her off balance. Catra wasn’t sure if she felt irritated that she was having to guide her back home or oddly honored. She was soaking up the warmth of the other girl’s body against her in the cool air, of course, but her shoulder was getting tired. She wondered how on earth the Mara humming a faint, nonsensical tune in her ear was the same one who’d effortlessly sent a grown woman to her knees earlier tonight.

They reached the restaurant without much fuss.

Thankfully Loo-Kee’s dining room was dark and free of any patrons, after hours as it was. Catra was not too keen on hauling a drunk Mara past a bunch of gawking restaurant-goers.

Instead she bore her past a crowd of empty tables and down the short hall to the staircase up to her room. The steps proved a hassle with Mara as unwieldy as she was and Catra's own vision none too clear, but they managed. As soon as they pushed through the curtain into Mara’s living space, Catra tried to guide her toward the bed, but the other girl mumbled out a sloppy, “Wait a sec.”

Catra froze, suddenly anxious that Mara was going to do something brash as she shrugged her off and turned in her arms, but to her relief (her disappointment?) that was not the case.

Instead, Mara crossed unsteadily to her wardrobe and pulled out the bottom drawer. Inside she pushed aside a stack of stained and frayed athletic shirts and jimmied loose a false wooden bottom, beneath which lay a dark box about the size of a shoebox. She pulled a stack of yuan from her pocket— _she’s been carrying that around this whole time?_ Catra wondered—and placed it in the box on top of a healthy existing pile of money.

Catra tried not to watch her out of the corner of her eye, but old habits died hard. The image of Shady Shin across the Underground amphitheater returned to her mind. Now the image of Mara’s savings box floated alongside it.

Before Catra could stew too long, Mara closed the door on temptation, moved to the drawer just above it, and withdrew a folded wool blanket and a rolled sleeping pallet. She crossed back to hand them to Catra, but when the brunette tried to take them, she didn’t release her grip. Catra looked up in confusion.

“Are you _sure_ you want to sleep on the floor?” Mara asked plaintively, and her eyes were unguarded under the effects of the alcohol and the look in them was so soft, so _wanting_ , and Catra didn’t trust her voice enough to answer aloud so she just nodded her head.

She told herself that the look on drunk-Mara’s face was not disappointment. It was better that way.

“Okay,” the girl affirmed reluctantly, “but you’ll tell me if you change your mind.”

It was stated as a fact instead of a question, but Catra nodded anyway as if she had a choice in the matter (she _did,_ she told herself. She was _not_ going to get in bed with Mara tonight, no matter what).

The golden-haired girl finally let Catra claim the supplies and turned toward her own bed with a yawn. “G’night, Catra,” she mumbled as she crawled onto the straw-filled old mattress. “Thanks for tonight.”

And—Catra tried not to let her face heat up, but she supposed it didn’t really matter in the dark. She decided against saying anything in response. It worked out okay, since Mara dropped off snoring about the second her head hit the pillow, but Catra's throat still felt like she’d tried to swallow sawdust. _Mara wants me in her bed._

That and— _t_ _onight isn’t over yet_ , pointed out the part of her mind that she hated.

…

Catra cracked one eye open. When it was met with nothing but darkness, she opened the other, staring at the space above her until they adjusted.

She could not sleep. It had been hours, and still Catra was restless.

She couldn’t get a notion out of her mind. Well—more than one, but one in particular was eating her up like a bad case of termites.

The image of Shin sitting across from her at the arena was burned on the backs of her eyelids.

That and the image of Mara’s savings box tucked temptingly away just within her reach.

Catra reached up and massaged her sore eyeballs, groaning quietly into the dark.

Damn Mara and her money.

Catra always felt bad to have the other girl pay for her. She would always hate the way it was necessary for her to depend on other people. She would always hate the sympathetic looks they gave her; the waves of pity virtually rolling off of them; the filthy coins they sometimes tossed to her as they passed. She hated having nothing, yet at the same time she hated having something she hadn’t earned.

So she would fight tooth and nail against Mara’s altruism at every chance she possibly could, because she didn’t _want_ that.

But somehow, the tug of that savings box in the bottom drawer was different. That was not altruism. That was not just a product of other people’s pity. That was a stack of money sitting unguarded within the reach of a scrappy street urchin and Catra could not stop imagining herself sliding open that drawer and stuffing aside those shirts and laying her hands on that box and—

Nothing would be a worse way to thank Mara for the kindness that she’d shown Catra so far. Nothing would be so far from the appropriate way to treat an acquaintance; a friend; a companion. Nothing would be a grosser butchering of the trust the other girl had placed in her just by inviting her into her home; her _life._

And yet—

Catra could not get the thought of it out of her head.

She kept imagining the possibilities of having just a few more yuan on hand each week to take to Shady Shin and buy a backup supply of má. 

She imagined collecting enough that she could eat something besides plain boiled noodles, ever, or maybe buy a new set of clothes. She imagined a life where she didn’t have to cut her soles on every uneven patch of pavement because she couldn’t afford to cover them. She imagined _having._

Mara didn’t have to know, did she? What she didn’t know wouldn’t hurt her.

Catra doubted that she needed every single bill crammed into that little box. Especially once she won the Quántóu Underground pot, she would have little need for a backup stash, right? She’d have enough for whatever she wanted.

She wouldn’t need it.

Catra needed it.

Carefully she lifted the blanket off of her legs and slid herself off of her borrowed pallet into a crouch. Then, catlike, silent in the darkness, she slunk across the floor to Mara’s wardrobe. The bottom drawer protested as she slid it open, but she eased past the rough spot slowly to minimize the noise. A glance over her shoulder and the snores coming from the bed told her that Mara had not heard.

Catra pushed aside the stack of Mara’s athletic shirts, levered up the drawer’s false bottom, and laid eyes on the darker silhouette of the fateful little savings box. Her heart was pounding fast and hard in her ears and she was shocked that the other girl didn’t hear it.

She reached out with a trembling hand, fumbling with the box in the dark, and tipped the lid back to reveal the stack of lighter shapes within. She licked her dry lips and swallowed on a scratchy throat. _This is it._

She slipped her hand into the box and touched the stack. _They’re right there._

Before she could hesitate long enough to change her mind, she sucked in her breath, held it, and nicked a few bills off the top. 

_You’re a fucking fool. She’s going to find out. She’s going to hate you. She’s going to leave you._

Catra looked down at the money in her hand, feeling the dry paper scrape her dry skin like it was trying to protest in tandem with her thoughts.

_This will get me through another night. This will keep me going._

She glanced back at Mara’s sleeping form, her chest rising and falling peacefully; blissfully unaware. So trusting of the villain she’d let into her room beside her.

_This isn’t worth it._

Her hand tightened on the paper notes and the crumpling sound stung her ears. 

_She wouldn’t like the real me. The sober me._

Catra didn’t even know who she was without the power of leaf to clear her vision. She needed it to be stable, to be bearable, and she needed to be stable to keep Mara.

_This is worth it._

So this was for Mara, in a way.

_This is worth it._

She slid the bills into her pocket.

This would buy her an extra week’s stock, at least. Just in case. Just as a contingency to a worst-case scenario.

She wasn’t addicted. She could go for as long as she wanted without a hit. It was just a matter of not _wanting_ to. 

Má had long been the only thing standing between her and passing her nights in a pool of tears or, sometimes, blood, praying to whoever would listen to end her life now instead of forcing her to continue this agonizing rat race of an existence.

She wasn’t addicted.

She just needed it.

Catra replaced the false bottom and the clothes exactly as they had been before. Then she stealthily returned to her pallet on the floor and curled up under the blanket Mara had given her, shivering against a chill that had nothing to do with the temperature of the room.

She wasn’t addicted.

She was just a horrible fucking person.

The money felt like lead in her pocket, but at the same time it was a balloon of possibility buoying her up.

She hated herself.

It took her a very long time to fall back to sleep when every one of Mara’s sleeping breaths sent an arrow of guilt shooting through her system.

…

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> "are you gay?"


	8. Chapter 8

The semifinal round was scheduled for the next night. During the day, Catra and Mara returned to the training room at the Underground and went for another practice bout (albeit more carefully this time). 

When Catra faced her on the mat, now, the nagging anxiety that was a product of her actions last night greatly intensified. She kept imagining the moment Mara would find her out, and that steely look in her eyes would turn real and those wrapped fists would no longer hold back their intent to truly hurt. Her nervousness leaked into her physical stance, and she found herself flinching and dodging attacks that she usually would have turned into skilful counters.

“Are you okay?” asked Mara more than once, and each time Catra shrugged her off with growing dread. She was already regretting what she’d done; regretting what she’d set herself up to lose, but at the same time she knew she was going to do it again. She was weak like that.

After they departed from the gym, Catra went her own way for a little while, claiming that she was letting Mara clean up in peace. Really, her feet led her straight toward her meeting spot with Shady Shin. He would not be there today, but there was a loose brick in the corner of their alleyway which could act, if need be, as a drop spot. She intended to hide most of the money she’d nicked off Mara behind the brick, and on Monday she’d check it for her new supply. The rest she planned to put toward a different purpose.

Her heart had climbed so far up her throat that it choked her as she reached the alleyway and made the drop, but once the money was hidden she felt much lighter without its weight. 

She’d feel better until she stole the next batch tonight.

… 

At the Underground that night, Catra didn’t immediately seek out her seat. She had a different goal in mind.

Instead she went straight to the mob of betters at the ringside, eye out for whoever was running the wagers. The crowd seemed thickest around a tall, stocky guy in a green tunic, so that’s where she headed, shouldering through the pressing betters to reach him. She had to crane her neck to look him in the face, but his beady eyes were sympathetic, as if he felt bad for being so tall.

“Here to wager?” he asked in a gruff voice so soft it was hardly audible over the crowd.

Catra gave him a curt nod and offered the thin stack of yuan she’d set aside for this purpose. “On Shira,” she requested.

The man’s lips curled slightly as he took her money. “Good choice.” He gestured to the wooden board hung up on the ring beside him, where the remaining tournament odds were posted. Catra hadn’t noticed it at first because the numbers made little sense to her, but she assumed Shira’s odds were excellent. She wondered if anyone would be foolish enough to bet against her. She hoped so, so she could make some money tonight.

Bet placed, Catra turned to climb into the stands. The amphitheater was running out of open places to sit as the tournament attracted more viewers, but even with the growing throng around her Catra felt oddly relaxed. It felt better, somehow, to put her stolen money back where it belonged. Back where it would benefit Mara. It didn’t sate the gnawing teeth of guilt in her stomach, but it was better.

Pockets light, she settled in between a couple of rough-looking young men to watch the night’s matches. There would be only two tonight; the winner of each would face off in the championship round a week from now, and the tension in the crowd spoke to the suspense of the event. Catra, for one, was not concerned. She knew with absolute certainty that her bet was good. Mara had lived up to her title of _warrior princess_ thus far, and she would do so again tonight.

She had nothing to worry about.

…

“See? I knew you had nothing to worry about.” Catra was grinning at her battered but victorious companion as they emerged onto Republic City’s street level, the midnight moon illuminating their path. Catra thought it fitting. “Want to celebrate with a trip to Bright Moon?”

Mara hefted her duffel bag into a more comfortable position on her shoulder and laughed. “You really want to see me drunk again so soon?”

“Wouldn’t hurt,” shot back Catra. Then, high on the weight of her night’s winnings in her pocket (someone had indeed been stupid enough to bet against Shira), she added, “You’re a cute drunk.”

Mara scoffed, but even without looking Catra was sure she was blushing. “I’m a stupid drunk,” the brawler corrected. “I always say things I regret.”

That made Catra sober fast, anxiety trickling down her spine. “Do you—do you regret something you said to me?” she asked, trying and failing to make it sound casual.

“No! I mean—” Mara faltered. Her pace slowed as the mood around them dampened. “I don’t remember everything from last night. But I always get really chatty and I just know I probably made you uncomfortable and—”

“No,” Catra cut her off firmly, rounding on her to stop their progress, because this was important enough that Catra wanted to face her when she said, “You didn’t. You wouldn’t.” That didn’t quite capture what she was getting at, but it felt like too much to come right out and say, _I’m always comfortable with you,_ (especially now) so she just tried to say it with her eyes.

“A-are you sure? When I woke up and realized you stayed the night I was afraid I…” Mara’s gaze was flickering unsurely between her mismatched eyes like she was trying to decode the message hidden there.

Catra swallowed. “Afraid you what?”

“Afraid I…” Mara let out a little sigh and her ears colored and she looked away. “…I might have done something.” 

Catra knew what she meant. She knew, and she wondered whether the blush was one of shame or something else. She hoped for the latter, but she wasn’t sure exactly what to say that wouldn’t come across either too forward or too insulting, so she just chewed her lip until she gathered her thoughts. Then, once Mara had gotten desperate enough to meet her eyes again, she cleared her throat and risked: “Would that be so bad?”

And because she was a coward and she knew that her relationship with this girl was doomed either way, she turned away before she could see Mara’s reaction and kept walking. She heard Mara take a shaky breath behind her before following, but no more words were exchanged between them until they were about halfway to Loo-Kee.

It was then that Mara spoke up again: “So what are you doing, um, next weekend?”

Catra slid her a subtle sideways glance to read her expression. It was neutral, but looked forced. A familiar dilemma. “Watching you win two hundred thousand yuan, princess,” she replied softly.

Mara turned to meet her eyes, a bright smile coming to life, and Catra thought it was more beautiful than the moon shining above them. If she could live in a moment like this forever, she would. If she could bask in that lovely blue-gray forever, she would. If she could trick herself into thinking things could be perfect forever, she would.

But alas. The universe was not so kind.

“I wouldn’t be too sure about that.” A gruff voice from behind made them jump, and Catra spun instantly into a fighting stance. Mara did the same beside her. Their illusion of peace was gone as if it had never existed.

“Who’s there?” demanded Mara.

A bulky silhouette in the dark growled a laugh. Instead of answering, it lumbered closer, slowly, like it was stalking them. Then it split into three separate shapes, and Catra realized with a sinking feeling that they were outnumbered. Outmatched had yet to be seen.

“Your career ends here,” the same rough male voice spoke from the center figure.

 _They’re after Mara?_ Catra had just enough time to throw her companion a panicked glance before the strangers lunged.

Indeed, they all went for Mara. Catra thrust herself in front of her without a thought. 

A fist came flying out of the gloom, and she summoned a tongue of flame in her hand as she caught it, scorching the attacker’s knuckles. In the split second that her fire illuminated the man’s face, she caught a glimpse of a dark mantle pulled up over the lower half and bushy brows furrowed in pain over flat green eyes. Then the man was wrenching his burned hand back and another goon was pressing forward into his place.

Mara shouldered out from behind Catra to take the lead. She deflected the second thug’s punch and countered with a jab to his throat. Catra dropped down and kicked his feet out from under him while he reeled. As she straightened up, she and Mara shared a quick glance. Understanding passed between them.

The two women arranged themselves back to back as the remaining two attackers rushed them from both sides. Mara engaged the green-eyed one with quick, intense blows, using his own strength against him the way she did best. Catra met the other, a lanky man with a crooked jaw, in a battle of skill and dexterity, and thus far she was much more skilled than he. 

The two held off their opponents like contrasting parts of a unified whole. Catra was at once terrified and thrilled by the pounding in her ears; the blood surging to her flaming fingertips; the ebb and flow that their bodies seemed to share as they kicked and punched and ducked and spun. Even in the midst of this filthy ambush, Catra felt confident. She knew Mara would be fine. She was Shira. She could hold her own.

And she did, for a while. But then the throat-punched thug recovered and reentered the fray, and no longer was this a fair fight. 

And Mara still did not know how to fight street smart.

The two men converged on her and Catra was too busy with her lanky opponent to lend aid. Things went quickly downhill. She could hear the _thud_ of blows landing on Mara’s body; the grunts of pain that accompanied them. Her confidence slipped a little further away with every strike.

Then a cry cut the air. It didn’t belong to one of the men. 

Catra could feel a rush of air on her back as Mara vacated the spot, and a rush of dread followed close behind. She risked a glance behind her and saw her companion doubled over, stumbling, and her assailants raining blows on her bent form. 

_No!_ she raged. She tried to fight panic. If Mara went down, they would be overwhelmed. There would be no guarantee that either of them would make it out of this alive.

She made a split-second decision. 

“Mara,” she growled out, low so only the other girl could hear, “duck!”

Mara hit the ground instantly. As soon as she was out of the way Catra whirled around and kicked out in a sweep of flame that burned all the hotter as it drew power from the surge of anger boiling in her chest. A chorus of cries and curses filled the alley as it hit. 

Catra acted fast. As their attackers scrambled to regain their wits from the blast, she took the chance to swoop down, loop Mara’s arm around her own shoulders, and heave her up.

“You okay?” Catra asked frantically in her ear as she settled her partial weight across her shoulders and began a retreat. The way Mara had been folded over in pain, Catra feared she was seriously injured.

“Fine,” Mara gasped out in a tone that made the assurance less than convincing.

“Mara—”

“I’m fine!”

She was breathing raggedly, limping slightly, as they fled their assailants—obviously less than fine. Catra's worry deepened. To buy them some time, she sent another blast of fire down the alley behind. It turned out to be unnecessary.

“Leave them. That’s good enough,” she heard the lead thug bark to the others.

The sound of pounding footsteps signalled their escape, but not before Catra picked up on another one hiss, “We didn’t count on the bender!”

“I said that’s good enough!” the first voice snapped back.

She whipped her head back around to identify who had spoken—it was the tallest one, with the soulless green eyes—before the men could turn and disappear into the night unpunished for their crimes.

She vowed not to forget those eyes.

She fully intended to exact her revenge on their owner later.

A wheeze from Mara drew her gaze back to her, and the flood of protectiveness Catra felt for the other girl just then, with her clinging to her body, panting beside her, was enough to knock the rest of the air out of her already-strained lungs. She tightened her grip on her companion’s side and continued their race toward safety with new energy. The only thing that mattered now was getting Mara out of harm’s way.

The pure conviction she felt at that thought shocked her a little bit. Catra hadn’t ever expected to feel so protective of somebody else. She had gotten used to taking care of herself and only herself, unable to afford anything more. But now…

What was this girl doing to her?

 _Making me soft is what it is,_ her cynical side retorted in response, but Catra wasn’t content to settle with that. Not anymore.

Because just a moment ago, facing down a slew of masked muggers, she and Mara had been stronger _together._ It had finally occurred to Catra that trusting someone might not _always_ be a sign of weakness. Maybe sometimes it was a path to strength.

 _That’s foolish,_ her brain shot her down again. _You know it is. You’re_ stealing _from her, for spirits’ sake._

She would ruin this like all the rest.

Catra ripped herself out of her depressing thoughts abruptly, focusing back in on the present. The here and now, where Mara was tucked under her arm and Catra was trying to pick out the path back to Razz’s among a twisting maze of inner-city alleyways and all she cared about was making sure Mara was _safe_.

“Good thing there’s a week before the championship round,” panted Mara with a bitter smile as they plowed on. “They should have waited.”

“Don’t give them any ideas,” Catra cautioned through her teeth.

But the hoodlums did not come back. Catra and Mara’s trek back to Loo-Kee was unhindered, if hard and heavy and painful with the taller girl’s weight thrown across her smaller companion.

The moon was high when Catra shouldered open the door to the restaurant and bore Mara in, grimly thinking how similar yet so different this scene was from last night. She much preferred taking care of drunk Mara, she decided. That one she could handle. Hurt Mara, though—this would be more difficult. This one she actually had to _do_ something about.

So Catra expended her last well of strength helping the other girl limp up the stairs to her living area (her next place had better be on the ground level) and depositing her safely in her bed. Mara winced as she settled onto the mattress, and Catra began to look around for supplies to ease her pain. Nothing on the nightstand or the wardrobe stuck out to her as helpful, except—

_Oh!_

There, behind the lamp on the wardrobe, was a little container that she recognized as one of Razz’s creations. Catra crossed to grab it, keeping her eyes off the bottom drawer of the furniture with effort. She hoped the little canister held something better-tasting than Razz’s mouthwash, and ideally something with healing properties, too. She twisted the top off and gave the green paste inside a sniff. Something herbal. Salve? She hoped so.

Catra returned with the canister to sit on the edge of the bed beside her companion (she was on Mara’s _bed_ ) and showed it to her. “Would this help?”

“Y-yeah, it’s healing salve. But you don’t need to—”

Ignoring her, Catra began tugging down her frayed stocking to get at her injured ankle, salve at the ready.

“Catra, you don’t need to do this. Really, it’s fine. It’s just a bruise,” Mara protested—which was technically true, except that bruise was swollen as a melon, fifty shades of ugly and had to hurt like it too.

“You said I’d find a way to pay you back. This is it,” Catra replied, trying with all her might not to think of what she _really_ owed Mara.

The injured girl sighed shortly. “You don’t need to,” she said again, softer, less sure.

“I’m going to.” Catra applied the salve by dabbing her fingers in the paste and transferring it to Mara’s damaged skin. She wasn’t sure that was really how she was supposed to do it, but she tried anyway. Both of them were silent while she worked. When the ugly bruised knot of Mara’s ankle was covered in green film, Catra cast around for something to wrap it with.

“In the drawer,” Mara murmured, resigned to let the other girl care for her. She was pointing to her nightstand, so Catra slid off the bed to search where she was indicating and came up with a roll of thin bandaging. This she wrapped around the doctored ankle to keep the salve in place, and once done she pushed a pillow under it to keep it elevated.

The whole time she was working, she could hear the voices of the two thugs from earlier echoing in her head: _your career ends here…we didn’t count on the bender…that’s good enough…_ and wondered whether Mara had caught that same crucial phrases. A possibility had occurred to her, and she felt sick just considering it, but it made enough sense that she felt she ought to bring it up.

“Hey,” she said suddenly into the silence. She could barely see Mara’s face in the dim light, but she could feel the girl’s gaze shift to her—or maybe just intensify, because Catra wasn’t altogether sure that she hadn’t already been looking at her. Under this pressure, now, her resolve withered, but she cleared her throat and went on anyway:

“I think that might have been sabotage,” she rasped, hardly daring to look into Mara’s shadowed face for fear of her reaction.

For a long moment the girl was silent. Then she sighed, deeply, wearily.

“I wouldn’t be surprised.”

Catra looked straight at her, trying not to grimace. _I miss her optimism._ “When we were getting away, one of them said…he said ‘we didn’t count on the bender,’” she continued. “Like they’d planned it.” She realized her hand was still resting right beside Mara’s foot and removed it awkwardly. “All I can think is that it might be a competitor from the Underground. Unless there’s a different group of lowlifes out to ruin your career.”

Mara hummed in sober acknowledgement, and then again a silence stretched long enough to make Catra's heart begin to climb into her throat.

When finally Mara spoke, her voice was barely audible: “Then I’m glad you were with me.” Her hand reached out in the dim to find Catra's and grasped it tightly. Catra could do nothing but squeeze back, because she was thinking the very same thing.

They sat like that, the air between them rife with mingled dread and relief, until the moistness breaking out across Catra's palm made her uncomfortable enough to break their precious contact. “I’d better let you rest,” she said on a clear of her throat, standing up to move toward her pallet on the floor from the other night. 

Mara’s hand strayed after her; caught her by the wrist. “Wait.” The deep well of feeling—the bare _longing_ behind that single word was not lost on Catra. “Stay.”

Shivers ran down her spine, but she didn’t pull away. “I don’t want to brush your wound during the night,” she whispered.

“I told you, it’s fine,” said Mara in the same soft tone, like they were creating something fragile in this moment; something that might shatter if either spoke too loud. Her fingers lay right against Catra's pulse point. She was sure the other girl could feel her heart pounding.

“I don’t want to risk it.” And what she really meant was, _I don’t want to risk this. I don’t want to risk_ us, because she was so afraid that if she got too close to this girl, everything would unravel from beneath her and she would go falling into space with nothing to hold onto and nothing below but the hard, unforgiving ground. Especially—especially now that she’d—

“Please.” Mara’s words—her voice—her everything—said in response, _I’ll catch you when you fall._

_I promise._

And Catra wanted to believe her. She did. But she knew that she did not deserve that kind of assurance. That kind of care. She would simply make a mess of it the way she did everything else—the way she was _doing_ even now because she didn’t know how to do anything but be an absolute fuckup.

So, gently, she tried to tug her arm away. “Mara—“

“My name is Adora.”

All the breath rushed out of her.

_No. Oh, no._

She felt as if she were imploding at the weight of what that admission meant.

_Someone I trust completely._

Mar— _Adora_ trusted her.

Catra's mouth dropped open, but she didn’t know what to say.

She’d spent all this time trying to convince Mara that she was no good, not worthy, bound to screw things up, yet at the same time she’d let herself fall deeper and deeper in—into a _hole_ and didn’t even realize that she was pulling the other girl in with her.

“Y-you can’t,” she managed, trying once again to pull away, but Adora tightened her grip.

“I can. I do. I trust you, Catra. Please—please give me this.” She loosened her grip to turn her hand over and lace their fingers together, hesitant, pleading. Catra couldn’t fathom it. “Please trust me too.”

And—that wasn’t the _problem!_ Catra was the problem! Her bad habits were the problem! She couldn’t let Adora trust her, because it was a grave mistake.

But the way Adora was cradling her hand, pinning her with her eyes even in the dim, breathing heavy and steady as if she was physically affected by the weight of her emotion—

“I do.” She did. She trusted Adora too, and that was something she could not help. “I do.” Maybe she could let this happen; just for the night. Maybe she could give into something both more and less painful than má, just for a little while. She _wanted_ to—the touch of Adora's hand was pulling her in, both physically and metaphorically.

But—she was a flaming mess of a person, literally. She had done things that would come back to bite them both soon enough, and something like this…

Getting too close would only make the end more painful. 

So, “But I can’t,” she breathed again, gently extricating herself from Adora's grip and lowering her eyes to avoid the pain in the other girl’s expression. “I’m sorry.”

And without waiting for a response, because she knew none was coming, Catra turned to escape to her thin pallet on the floor. She bundled into the blankets in a futile attempt to replace the warmth she had forfeit, feeling Adora's eyes on her back, but it was not enough to thaw her heart.

It was not enough to smother her guilt at letting Adora get hurt.

And it was certainly not enough to make her forget what she was planning to do tonight.

…

She raided the savings box again while Adora slept. It truly was a tragedy to be weak.

…

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> https://www.deviantart.com/legendgrass/art/Sabotage-836481153?ga_submit_new=10%3A1586014854
> 
> I drew this in like January lol and finally I can post it


	9. Chapter 9

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> sorry folks

The only thing motivating Catra to get through her shift the following day was the urge to get home and check on Adora.

The fact that she knew her real name now was both a terrible fear and an inconceivable honor. It was the highest compliment Adora could pay her and the deepest form of vulnerability. It was just another thread connecting them in the slowly building web that had begun with Razz’s prophecy and continued to grow as they shared long-guarded pieces of themselves. Catra still didn’t know whether that web was there to trap her or to catch her if she should fall.

She knew which she _wanted_ it to be.

Adora meant more to her than she’d ever expected. She’d slipped into Catra's life with that foreign golden hair and that kind gaze and led her slowly down a path toward closeness that somehow ended up here, and now Catra was in so deep that she would not be able to escape without consequences. She cared about Adora, and she worked well with her, and she—she liked being _close_ to her, and that was more terrifying than any attempted mugging in a back alley. Because, Catra didn’t know what to _do_ with it. She had no clue what it meant or how she was supposed to act around this new feeling. Her first instinct was to claw it away as fast as possible because it could only serve to hurt her in the end.

And, she supposed, that was exactly what she was doing.

She was bound to disappoint Adora. She’d guaranteed that as soon as she made the decision to steal from her savings box. She just wasn’t strong enough to trust this girl over the bone-deep need that had been the only constant in her life thus far. It didn’t matter how tenderly Adora looked at her; how good she felt when she was close to her. Catra couldn’t beat the habit.

And the fact that that _bothered_ her more than anything was absolutely agonizing. She was trapped, spiralling toward a fate that she designed herself, torn between wanting it and hating it and hating herself and everything in between. She was doomed.

And she didn’t know how to let Adora help her.

Catra shoved her fingers through her thick mass of hair and groaned helplessly. “I’m a fucking wreck,” she mumbled to the empty sidewalk as her feet carried her toward the object of her distress. It didn’t offer her an answer. She would have to face this alone, in the end, just the same as always.

But right now she had more important things to worry about.

It was easier to take care of Adora than it was to take care of herself.

When she reached Loo-Kee, she gave Razz a knowing nod and made a beeline for the door that led up to the living space above, deciding to put off dinner until she had tended to her patient.

Upstairs, she approached Adora's curtain and knocked on the doorframe gently. It could be no one but her, but still she paid Adora that little bit of courtesy just so the wounded girl could feel more in control of her situation. Just so her trust felt well-placed. Catra knew being bedridden must be the worst sentence possible to the strong-willed fighter.

At Adora's called, “Come in,” Catra pushed the curtain aside just enough to check that she was decent before entering. As she stepped inside and let the curtain fall back behind her, she took in Adora's state. She was still in the bed, but sitting up, a pillow still wedged beneath her leg but the sheets drawn up over it. A pair of empty noodle bowls sat on the nightstand beside her; obviously Razz was doing her part to provide.

And though her face was pale with pain and exhaustion, the sight of Catra made her smile.

Catra tried to quell the mix of pleasure and shame that surged up at that simple gesture. She smiled weakly back.

“How is it?” she asked, wincing when her voice sounded raspy.

“Come see for yourself.” Adora pulled the sheets away from her legs in invitation, and _still_ Catra couldn’t get over the amount of trust that demonstrated to her so freely—that and the shape of Adora's body as she lounged against the headboard in only her breastband and rolled-up breeches.

She crossed the boards to her companion, sat on the edge of the bed, and took the corner of the sheets from her, adjusting it so she could access the wound but not much else. If Adora noticed, she didn’t comment. She didn’t protest as Catra prodded gently at the area, either, even though it must have hurt.

“It looks a little better,” Catra reflected, which was mostly true—the bruises were browning around the edges and maybe a touch smaller—but that was also not saying much.

She could feel Adora watching her. “You don’t look very pleased,” the other girl observed softly, and her true meaning showed through clear enough in her tone: _what’s wrong?_

“I’m—” Catra looked away, pretending to search for the container of Razz’s salve even though it was sitting in plain sight. Her eyes were unfocused. “It’s not that.” 

Then she realized that was the wrong thing to say; it would only pique Adora's curiosity more, and that was the _last_ thing she wanted—so she shook her head and backtracked, “I mean, it’s nothing. I’m fine.”

Adora's blue-gray gaze looked _extremely_ skeptical, but she didn’t press. Instead she reached out and tentatively rested her hand over Catra's, squeezing slightly when Catra didn’t shrug her off. The brunette turned her face away to hide her blush, unwilling to admit just how _much_ this girl affected her. It wasn’t easy, especially when Adora spoke up again, simply murmuring, “I’m here,” but managing to capture so much _more_ in that single phrase than what the words could ever mean by themselves.

And what could Catra say to that except a weak, “Thanks,” and a shy duck of her head?

She could still feel the warmth of Adora's look pinning her, but she cleared her throat and tried to break up the atmosphere before she could dig her grave too deep. “Let’s take care of that ugly thing, then,” she said, picking up the container of salve from its conspicuous place on the nightstand and twisting the lid off.

Adora gave a little hum of slightly disappointed agreement and removed her hand from Catra's to lift the sheet aside just a touch further. The brunette set right to work digging her fingers into the container of salve for a remedy. She didn’t get very far before she was scooping the dwindling deposits out from the corners and looking disapprovingly at the little that had accumulated on her fingers.

“This is almost out,” she reported gruffly as she set the container on the nightstand and turned her attention to Adora's wound. For some reason she felt hesitant to touch her. She took a deep breath and a moment to clear her head before she closed the distance, applying a thin film of the substance across the knot at the base of Adora's leg, because that’s all the small amount left would allow her. Adora's skin was warm beneath her touch but not as warm as Catra's hands, and the light throb of the pulse point on her inner ankle felt oddly intimate. Catra wished this was a better time; maybe then she would allow herself to enjoy the feeling.

Doubtful.

She grunted as the salve ran out and Adora's wound was left pitifully doctored.

The other girl looked down at it and shrugged the shoulder Catra hadn’t burned. “We can get more from Razz,” she suggested, and the notion was not nearly as reassuring as she meant it to be, because Catra _knew_ where this was going. Sure enough: “She’ll try to give it to me for free, but I feel awful freeloading off of her all the time.”

The pit in Catra's stomach deepened and her ears started to ring. “You aren’t freeloading,” she insisted. _Please don’t look in the box._ Even though she’d been careful, she just had a _feeling—_ “You work for her, don’t you?”

Adora was still staring down at her wound, absently rolling her foot in careful circles to test her range of motion, oblivious to Catra's struggle. “Yeah, but…” she shrugged again, still only with her right shoulder. “I don’t know. It’s different. If anything, that means I owe her more.”

Catra would have read into that a lot more under different circumstances, perhaps even been eager to uncover more of Adora's history with Razz, but right now all she could do was try not to vomit on the girl that she—that she was cheating.

_Please don’t look in the box._

Why was she so scared? She’d known all along that it would happen eventually and it was all her fault and Adora didn’t deserve it but—

“Do we need it now?” Adora's voice startled her out of her spiral, and not in the relieving way it usually did.

Catra stared dully into the silver bottom of the mostly empty salve container, feeling the world around her narrowing into terrible, perfect clarity at the edges of her vision as consequences caught up with her, her heartbeat roaring in her ears.

This was it. This was the beginning of the end.

“Y-yeah,” she croaked.

“Can you bring me my savings box?”

She could basically hear the nails being driven into her coffin.

But she nodded and got up wordlessly, padding toward the wardrobe as if in a dream—a nightmare, more accurately—because what else could she do? This was _her_ doing, and it was her who would suffer for it.

The room seemed to warp and spin around her as she crossed the endless distance to the wardrobe, and she almost stumbled.

“Catra?” came Adora's worried voice from behind her, sounding far away, as she lurched the final distance and caught herself on the corner of the furniture.

Catra pretended like nothing had happened and bent down to slide open the bottom drawer, where the fateful little box lay hidden under Adora's shirts and the false bottom. She grasped it and wished its texture didn’t feel so familiar under her palms.

If the trip to the wardrobe had felt like a mile, the way back to Adora's side was inches. Suddenly Catra was standing there, no recollection of the past few seconds, holding out her future for Adora to decide. Blue-gray eyes were searching her deadened expression for something she could not bear to show. A moment passed, and Catra felt like she might suffocate in the silence.

Then, “Thanks,” the other girl said slowly as she accepted the box from Catra, extricating it from her fingers carefully. She could tell something was very wrong, and Catra couldn’t pretend otherwise.

She stood there, stock-still as Adora opened the box and reached inside. Her palms were clammy.

As Adora counted out a handful of bills off the top without a word, a tiny flicker of hope flared up in Catra's chest. Maybe she wouldn’t notice after all. Maybe she wouldn’t see. Maybe Catra had been careful enough in rearranging everything how she found it that—

“Wait.”

Those hopes shattered.

Adora had her head bowed over the box. Catra had a sudden fleeting urge to lash out; knock her out in an instant and escape while she still could (maybe take the money with her)—but she couldn’t. Not after everything they’d been through together. She squeezed her eyes shut as if that might block out the truth.

“This…this isn’t right.”

Feeling her heartbeat begin to pound up her throat and choke her, Catra managed, “What isn’t?” She curled her hands into fists and her ragged nails bit into her palms.

Adora was still sifting through the box. “The bill that was on top last time I put my winnings in; it had been folded up before, like zhezhi. I remember because I thought it was strange. It’s not there now.” She lifted the first few bills with her thumb and let them fan back down flat, contemplatively. When she raised her head to look at Catra, her brows were furrowed. “Someone’s been here.”

Catra swallowed a rock-hard lump. “C-could someone have broken in? While we were gone?”

“And left everything in the room untouched except for this? No. No burglar is that lucky.” Adora turned her head slowly to look directly at her now, and her eyes were empty, flat. Despondent. They could see straight to the truth and the truth was too painful for her to react to.

Her fate was upon her, and still Catra tried to wriggle out of it, because what else could she do? Her entire being felt like it was devouring itself with regret. She longed to take back what she had done, but her cynical inner self knew that she’d have done it again and again if Adora hadn’t caught her. That only made her feel worse.

“Did anyone else know about it?” she rasped.

“No,” Adora said hollowly, still staring into her soul with those deadened blue-gray eyes. They just looked gray now. “Only you.”

Catra’s heart felt like it was crumbling into pieces. Only an empty hole was left behind. “Adora, I—”

“Don’t call me that.”

She choked. “Wha—?”

“You don’t get to call me that. Not now,” Adora said, and it would have been more bearable if she were shouting, or lashing out, or even crying, but she wasn’t. She was as cold and quiet as death. She lowered the box of yuan to the nightstand beside her, and the gesture made Catra realize that Adora wasn’t concerned about the money—not really. She cared more about the fact that Catra had betrayed her. 

“Please, I—” Catra knew it was pointless. She knew she deserved whatever punishment Adora decided to throw at her. But still she tried to beg, because deep down she knew that Adora was too great a price to pay to satiate her vices. She’d known all along, but she’d been weak.

“I trusted you.”

Catra's emotions broke free of her tenuous hold, turning frantic. “I warned you! I told you I was no good! I told you I wasn’t worth it!”

Adora wasn’t swayed. Her shoulders were bowed, her brows shadowing those stormy eyes. Her whole figure was the picture of disappointment. “You’re in control of your own decisions, Catra. You could change,” she maintained.

“I can’t!” Catra cried. “I—I thought I was doing better. I thought I was stronger, for a minute, but—” She looked down at her hands, hating them; hating every part of herself. _I thought I was stronger when I was with you,_ is what she was thinking, the memory of their fight against the street thugs surfacing in her mind. It was only with Adora that she had felt as close to whole as she ever had.

_And still I was weak._

She just couldn’t break such a deeply ingrained habit. She couldn’t give up the thing she’d depended on to get her through her days for the last near-decade. She couldn’t pass up an opportunity to satisfy the urge that had become second nature to her.

She was broken, from the inside out. No golden-haired street fighter with a mysterious past could fix that in just a few weeks.

She was foolish for ever thinking maybe things could be otherwise.

“I’m sorry,” she whispered, looking up at Adora—no, Mara—was she back to Mara again, now? Catra didn’t know, miserably. “I’m sorry.”

She took a step back toward the doorway, feeling the need to flee itching at her throat.

Still Adora watched her with those washed-out eyes, only now a flicker of sorrow was visible in their depths. Her shock must have been fading, to be replaced by the emotions she ought to feel. She twisted her lower body free of the sheets and slid onto her feet—foot—half-reaching out her hand to Catra, and then letting it fall again limply.

“I would have given it to you if you’d asked,” she said softly, and Catra could not allow herself to believe that her voice shook.

She felt like she was imploding on herself. She couldn’t bear to be under that dead gray gaze anymore.

 _Get out,_ her instincts told her.

She bit her lip hard enough to hurt, half-hoping it would bleed, half-hoping that if she stayed here just one second longer, perhaps Adora would suddenly change her mind and take her back.

But her face didn’t change.

Hope wasn’t a strategy.

 _Get out,_ echoed louder in her head, and this time Catra listened.

She backed away, slowly at first and then quicker as she saw Adora take a limping step forward. _No._ A brief flicker of life in those gray eyes was the last thing she glimpsed before she spun and ran the short distance to the doorway, tangling in the curtain in her haste.

Adora called after her: “Catra. Catra!” The first was flat, and the second almost desperate. The complete change was a shock.

Catra ignored her and twisted herself free to launch down the stairs, convinced that it could only mean something worse. The door at the bottom stuck, because of course it did. As uneven footsteps caught up with her and the rusty catch refused to cooperate, the fear that she was about to feel Adora's fists on her back mounted in Catra’s mind. 

The blow didn’t come, but the extra second allowed Adora to stumble down the stairs after her as she pushed her wounded foot to the limit, and suddenly Catra's upper arms were caught in her firm grip and she was struggling out of reflex, thrashing and squirming to escape the unwelcome restraints. When Adora's grip only tightened, Catra's panic rose in tandem with it, and her fighting intensified. _Get out. Get out!_

She had to _go._ She braced her foot against the door and used the leverage to heave herself back into Adora, knocking her off balance so her grip weakened. Taking advantage of the sliver of an opening, Catra twisted and lashed out before she could think.

Her ragged nails sank into flesh for a split second and then wrenched back out, and blood came with them.

Everything went deadly still. 

Instant regret surged through Catra so hard she thought she might vomit.

She was left staring down at her bloodied nails while Adora raised a shaky hand to her jaw, where two angry marks now marred the skin. Her face was slack with disbelief, and Catra's was frozen in horror.

It took a massive effort for her to raise her eyes to face the damage she’d just inflicted. As soon as she saw it, she choked on a suddenly constricted throat.

Adora looked at her as if she was a stranger.

“I’m sorry,” she whispered again, feeling tears begin to well just like the blood on Adora's jaw. Her hands were trembling. She had to get out.

Her guilt kept her rooted there for just long enough to take one more fateful look into Adora's unknowing eyes, and then she broke down. Her red-stained hand scrabbled for the door handle as tears spilled over onto her cheeks, and before Adora could do or say a thing, she was gone.

…

Catra knew that this time Adora would not follow her. 

Still she walked fast, eaten up by panic that was only intensified by the feeling of blood still under her nails.

She’d screwed up. She’d screwed up worse than ever before.

 _You’re a fucking idiot,_ her cynical mind told her bluntly, and for once she didn’t even try to temper the truth. She wasn’t going to be able to come back from this. She’d pinned her whole relationship with Adora on the hope that she wouldn’t discover her betrayal, and she got what was coming to her. Now she was out a possibility of a real friend or… _more_ , and probably her privilege to eat at Loo-Kee, too. All for a few extra hits of má.

You’d better believe she’d make those hits fucking worth it.

It was all she had now, thanks to her own stupidity. 

She fumbled frantically in her pockets for the joint she’d last rolled and got it started as fast as she could, uncaring that she burned her fingers in the process. Then she raised it to her lips and took her first pull and—

Usually, a minute later the drug would still the shaking in her hands and the pounding in her heart and drag her somewhere between waking and dreaming, where it didn’t matter how shitty her life was going because nothing could reach her there.

But this time, instead of settling into a pleasant, unfeeling haze, Catra just felt everything come down on her _harder._ The smoke dulled the shock of what had happened and in its wake, her true emotions burst through. Only now was she able to realize just how far she had fallen.

The weight was too much to bear. So, just like always, what could she do but run?

She took off down the streets with no other destination in mind but _away_ —away from Adora, away from her worst fuckup yet, away from the certainty that she would always end up here eventually: alone, guilty, hated and well-deserving of it.

She ran until her bare soles went numb from beating against the cold bricks and her smoke-filled lungs were too painful to sustain her.

She ended up in a dark, cold, unfamiliar alley, where she fell to her knees, finally exhausted, and wept.

It was a waste of Adora's money.

…

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> but remember, all my stories end well! it's ok!


	10. Chapter 10

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> y'all still mad about last chapter?  
> how about this one?

Catra stayed far from Loo-Kee, even though it meant she would go hungry. She deserved it after what she’d done to Adora.

She almost stayed away from work, too, except her life literally depended on it. She earned enough to buy a few groceries from the run-down corner store each day to keep her going, but it was not enough to keep her already low energy reserves from dwindling. That and the chaos of her emotions made her lightning production spotty and unreliable, even with twice her usual dose of má, and she failed to meet her quota most every day.

Weaver kept giving her more chances to prove herself, which was surprising until Catra realized that the bitch was only keeping her around as an outlet for her sadistic urges. She collected bruises in exchange for work hours until her back looked like camouflage.

She couldn’t afford any new má once her supply was spent; not if she wanted enough money for food (which was debatable, but Catra's survival instincts won out over her hopelessness). It was ironic that her last stock was the leaf she’d bought with Adora's cash.

She used it, because she wasn’t about to let the biggest sacrifice of her life go to waste, but it only sent her deeper into the grayish twilight hell that had become her reality. Where once it had made her feel better, now it just reminded her of Adora's face and her betrayal in endless repetition, each time hitting her as squarely as if it were the first. It was so painful she didn’t even smoke her very last joint; just left it on the rickety table for it to haunt her like her mistakes.

She didn’t have the energy for anything except that sad, unbreakable cycle: work poorly, eat poorly, smoke poorly, sleep poorly, repeat.

It was rapidly nearing the point of unbearable.

Nobody was around to care.

She wondered if Adora would ever find out if she were to disappear.

…

She was walking the same route home she always did. It took her longer, now that her feet dragged and her back was bowed with the pain of every step.

She hadn’t had any má in days, and it was all she could think about, besides Adora.

The pain in her head made anything else difficult.

She had her hood up and her head down, uncaring of who she met in the back alleyways. Any mugging attempts would be laughably unsuccessful and any murder attempts would be welcome, so she saw no point in forcing herself into awareness anymore. She’d even let her nails grow out so they were almost even; she wanted no reminder of what she’d done to Adora the last time they’d seen each other.

It hadn’t even been that long, but Catra was forgetting her face.

She’d already forgotten the feel of her touch.

It made her feel empty.

She wanted to see her again. Actually—what she _really_ wanted was to have Adora back, to have some constant in her life, to have some glimmer of light to hold onto in the midst of all this darkness, but—

That was impossible. She’d made sure of that.

The emptiness grew.

If she had been a husk of a person before, now she was nothing more than a walking skeleton. A useless pile of bones. Good for nothing except scavengers to chew on, except if they tried, they’d starve too.

Lost in a fog as she was, she didn’t hear the voice calling her name from a side street at first. Then, when she did hear it, she dismissed it as a hallucination and kept walking.

Then it got louder and clearer rather than going away, and she ground to a halt. 

“Catra!” someone called again. It was familiar, although it was not the one voice she wanted to hear.

After a long moment of debate, she turned and faced whoever’s footsteps were now approaching over the cobbles.

She recognized the tall, lanky silhouette in the evening dim and matched it to the voice: Shady Shin, her dealer.

She considered just walking away, fearing the frustration of facing má without having access to it would be too much, but she didn’t have the resources to outpace him in her current state, so she just stood there and let him come.

“Catra!” Shin called again as he swaggered up the sidewalk toward her and came to lean against a wall a safe distance away. He still had a hold of his street sense, it seemed. “Haven’t had your business for a minute.”

Rather than answering, Catra pulled her hands out of her pockets and with them, the meager few coins she had to her name. She showed Shin, and he clucked his tongue and shook his head.

“That explains it,” he said. “Sorry to lose ya. What happened, anyway?”

It took a long pause for Catra to gather enough energy to speak. When she did, it was hoarse and painful, and she realized she hadn’t spoken to anyone since…since she couldn’t remember when. Assuming screams of pain under Weaver’s switch didn’t count.

“Made a mistake,” she croaked out.

Shin made a harrumph in the back of his throat. “What’s new?” he said offhandedly, and Catra couldn’t bring herself to get angry over that. Then he reached up and scratched his chin and added, “Ain’t got anything to do with that girl you were with, has it?”

The first flicker of life she’d felt in a week sputtered in her chest. She felt defensive, annoyed, but that was all smothered under a mountain of regret. “What’s it to you?” she growled. Nobody had the right to be talking about Adora to her right now. Nobody. She didn’t want the girl’s name anywhere near Shady Shin’s mouth.

Instead of rising to meet that provokation, Shin let the hint of a smirk curl his lips and went on: “Ain’t she got the final round of that tournament tonight?”

The question hit Catra like a ton of bricks square in the chest, squeezing all the air out of her. Her shock must have shown on her face, because Shin chuckled a wicked little laugh.

“That’s what I thought,” he drawled. He took a coin out of his pocket—Catra couldn’t bring herself to care that that single piece was more than everything she owned—and began flipping it back and forth across his knuckles slyly. “Say, if you show up there tonight and, ah, smooth things over with her, would that put you back in my ledger?” he asked, more of a deliberate nudge than a question.

And, Catra hated him for it. She hated him most for bringing Adora to the forefront of her mind when any thought of her already brought Catra so much pain. She hated him secondly for planting the idea that maybe there was hope for her in Adora, because there wasn’t. And she hated him too for using the prospect of má to guide her toward that idea.

She hated him—but she had to admit, he was good at what he did.

“Fuck off,” she grumbled darkly and turned to go on her way again, pretending like she had anywhere better to be than at Adora's fight tonight. Pretending that Shin hadn’t just shot an arrow straight to her heart and twisted it just for the sake of a few extra yuan.

Pretending like she wasn’t about to go and do exactly what he’d suggested, because the past miserable week had woken her to the truth: she didn’t just want Adora back. She fucking _needed_ Adora back. Razz had been right this whole time; they were destined to be connected, and Catra was literally wasting away with that connection severed.

But Shin’s laugh followed her out of the alleyway, and she knew that he’d seen right through her ruse.

…

She stole the fifty-yuan entry fee off of a businessman wandering the backstreets, obviously lost.

Actually, she stole a hundred just in case, but when she retraced her steps to the now-familiar deserted storefront, descended the wooden stairs, and paced down the dirt tunnel to the entrance to the Underground, the bouncer still only demanded fifty. She handed it over and ducked by him quickly, face shrouded under her hood, shoulders draped in the cloak she’d fashioned from a tattered cloth in the corner of her den to hide her identity.

She sat in the back where the shadows blanketed the stands, more frightened that Adora might see her than that any lowlifes might try to take advantage of her. People stayed clear of her, perhaps wary of any nameless stranger in a hood. She glimpsed Shin a few levels down and over and pointedly turned her face away so there was no chance he would recognize her. She still got the feeling that he knew she was here.

She’d arrived late to minimize the chances of running into Adora before the fight, so she wasn’t sitting long before the floodlights on the center cage brightened and the skint-elbowed announcer commandeered the space to introduce the night’s fight. 

“Welcome, one and all, to the final round of the annual Quántóu Underground tournament,” his familiar voice boomed. It was funny how everything down here continued on like normal even when Catra's own life had been overturned. “Tonight is the night that one fighter will come out on top and claim our grand prize of two hundred thousand yuan! Get ready for the fight of your lives, because tonight’s challengers are the best of the best.

“First up, it’s Shira, the warrior goddess, who’s defeated everyone who dared enter the ring with her before! Will she do it again tonight? Stick around to find out.”

And, Catra had been preparing herself for a shock at Adora's entry, but _spirits—_

As the sun-haired girl emerged from the lockers, still limping slightly on a wrapped ankle and sporting a pair of new facial scars, Catra gasped with the shot of physical pain that entered her chest. As she watched, Adora coughed at exactly the same time, and her head tipped back abruptly to scan the crowd and Catra dared think that maybe, _maybe,_ she had felt it too. She pulled her cloak tighter about her shoulders and tried to sink back into the shadows, breath catching as those blue-gray eyes roved over the place she sat.

Adora didn’t seem to notice her. She returned her focus to the path to the ring with a small shake of her head and resumed her entrance. As always, her routine was minimal and stoic, and the huge tournament crowd ate it up. The announcer had to strain to be heard over the din to continue his introductions:

“And next, her challenger: last year’s reigning champion, Rong Stonefist!”

The man who entered next was bulky and built, and his fists may well have lived up to their name. He looked vaguely familiar, presumably from last week’s semifinals, but truthfully, most details of the past week had slipped from Catra's mind since then.

Stonefist’s trot to the ring was much like Adora's: stiff and straightforward. There was a smirk on his face, though, that made him look much less regal than his opponent the warrior goddess. Catra narrowed her eyes at him, already stewing with dislike. Shira would knock that smirk off his face soon enough.

The referee who came forward to initiate the fight was not the usual one. Catra thought it slightly odd that he would miss the finals, but maybe this ref was better qualified for the responsibility or something. He stepped in as the announcer retreated a safe distance, and a tense pause hung over the arena as the fighters lined up and he waited to call the start.

 _Come on already,_ Catra grumbled, hating all the extra ado that came with a championship match. Maybe the officials just didn’t want it to be over in the seconds it’d take for Adora to beat Stonefist’s ass. Got to give the crowd its money’s worth, she supposed.

The audience was hushed, hanging on the edge of its seat until _finally_ :

“Begin!”

Rong Stonefist didn’t even wait until the word was out before leaping into action. He lunged across the line into critical distance instantly, swinging a heavy hook at Adora's head. She was so startled she had to drop into a backward roll to avoid it. When she came up, though, her eyes were flashing like the stormy sky. _Won’t catch me off guard again,_ they said.

And Rong didn’t. Every one of his attacks from then on Adora met with the cool, calculated precision that had become her trademark. The crowd cheered as she slipped back into the skin of the invincible Shira they knew and loved.

The only thing she couldn’t rectify was the slight limp that kept her from moving comfortably. Rong had noticed it quickly, and now his assaults were concentrated on her weak side, forcing her to put weight on the injured ankle, compromising her maneuverability. It wasn’t very sportsmanlike, but this was the underground, after all.

Something else about this Rong Stonefist gave Catra a bad feeling too, though. Independent of his poor sportsmanship, something about his posture; his moves seemed to grate on her, and she couldn’t place why. Her instincts were just telling her that something was wrong.

_What…?_

Catra leaned forward to the edge of her seat, forsaking the safety of the shadows to zero in on the source of her anxiety, and her gaze landed on—

His eyes.

They were green, flat, lifeless.

Familiar.

_No. Oh, no._

Catra felt a surge of sickness rise up her throat as the pieces fell together, and it was all she could do to stay in her seat and keep watching the fight with growing horror. She could see it now: the slope of his shoulders, the movement of his feet as he fought—it was all the same as the figure’s who had led the ambush against them many nights ago. She couldn’t say she was shocked to see him here. Of course he was after the gold; that was the only prize worth attacking his opponent in an alleyway for. It gave Catra a flicker of pride to see Adora facing him down on fair ground now, meeting his cheating ass blow for blow despite all odds—but it was quickly extinguished and replaced by fear.

If he was willing to hurt Adora before, what was stopping him from doing it again?

She didn’t trust the referees of the Underground to keep Adora safe.

She stared intently at the other girl’s back; that swinging gold ponytail; those strong hands wrapped in cloth, and wondered if she had recognized him too.

_Come on, Adora._

As she watched, Adora stumbled on her weakened ankle and almost took a shot to the head. In the second that she spent recovering, Stonefist crowded in and let his other fist fly. Adora again barely avoided it. She was quickly losing ground.

Stonefist was backing her against the corner of the cage. Catra could see it clear as day, and she knew that Adora could too, but that ankle was slowing her down and she couldn’t juke from side to side like she usually could have and Stonefist was pressing her hard. 

Catra had her attention locked on Adora's ankle, so when a pile of pebbles on the arena floor nearby shifted without being touched, she was the first (maybe the only) one to notice.

_Wait._

Stonefist launched a lunging kick, Adora dodged, and as he returned to his regular stance that pile of pebbles shifted again—towards him. Catra's jaw dropped and she sat forward till she was almost out of her seat. Was he—

It couldn’t be. Benders weren’t allowed to fight down here.

But as Stonefist adjusted his stance to bring his back heel right above the little pile of debris, and the pebbles jumped a hardly noticeable half-inch to cover his sole in a subtle layer of rock-hard armor, it was unmistakable. He was an earthbender, and he was cheating.

“No,” jumped from Catra's throat. She could see what was coming. She could see Stonefist winding up, pressing in on Adora to drive her deep into the corner so she had no escape. “Adora, no!”

Stonefist let loose with a vicious tornado kick to her chest with his rock-clad sole. Adora had nowhere to go

The blow would have thrown her back several feet, except the cage wall stopped her so she collided with the slats with a _crunch_ that had to come from her ribs. Catra saw her head snap back against the metal, hard. When Stonefist’s foot (and the rock that he had cheated with) fell away, the warrior goddess Shira crumpled to the ground and didn’t move.

A hush fell over the stadium. More than a few spectators rose to their feet outside of the regular pit, distress on their faces as they watched Adora fail to rise—probably fearful of losing their bets. 

Catra jumped up for another reason entirely.

She strained to see over the heads of the rest of the crowd, eyes locked on the girl she—on Adora, suffocating.

 _Please get up. Please get up. Please_ —

Her ears were ringing, the sounds of the crowd growing dim and fuzzy. She found a break in the throng and suddenly had a perfect view of her fallen angel and the—

The man who’d dealt the blow, walking toward her, his fists still raised.

_No._

Adora must have recognized him. He must have known. Now he was going to make sure she didn’t tell.

Catra whipped her head across to look at the referee, who _wasn’t doing anything._

Now that Catra looked closer, she recognized him too.

He was lanky, with a crooked jaw.

_No._

“No, no, no,” Catra mumbled frantically to herself, beginning to push her way toward the front of the crowd, bounding down each step with energy she hadn’t felt in ages. Her pulse was rapid in her ears, her breath short. “No, no, _please._ ” She shoved through the mass of bodies pressed together in the pit with effort, fighting off grabbing hands and jabbing elbows and cursing mouths, uncaring of what happened to her so long as she got to _Adora._ “Let me through!”

Her shout was only met with laughs and jeers, but their derision wasn’t enough to stop her from forcing her way to the front.

She stumbled free of the sweaty mob and found herself right upon the cage, where she grabbed the nearest slats and clung on. From here she could see the cold malice in the man’s green eyes, the divot in the dirt behind him where he’d used earthbending to cheat. He was standing over Adora, flexing and posturing to the crowd, riling them up in anticipation of his big victory.

 _Of Adora's defeat._ Catra was afraid to find out just what that entailed.

“Get away from her!” tore from her throat, but it was lost in the clamor. The man didn’t stop his approach.

Catra swore and began skipping along the perimeter of the cage toward the entrance as fast as the press would allow, keeping her eyes on Adora the whole time, panic rising as her window of opportunity rapidly dwindled.

“Get away!” This time she screamed so loud that the green-eyed thug heard her and whipped his head around to follow the sound, focus momentarily shifted off Adora. _Good._ Every second helped. “Can’t you see she’s hurt?” she demanded of anyone who would listen, which was still few, but all she needed was a little more time. “Can’t you see he cheated?” She was almost near the entrance to the ring.

All of the pain and despondency and heavy gray haze of the past week had caught ablaze and turned to angry desperation to fuel her through this moment. She’d spent days agonizing over losing Adora; now she was in danger of losing her for _good_ and there was no way in _hell_ she was going to let that happen.

The false referee was on his way to the entrance to stop her. As she bulled up to the opening from the other side, he tried to block her path, but she let her rage flood her veins and lend her new strength. She struck out at him quickly; doubled him over as her fist connected with his gut; jabbed her knee into his throat and pushed by him as he fell.

The crowd was growing loud in outrage— _now,_ not when the favored fighter was cheated into a life-threatening injury, but as soon as someone interrupted their entertainment—and several pairs of hands began tugging at her limbs and her cloak to keep her out of the ring, but Catra pulled back, harder. She could hardly hear them over the now-deafening rush in her ears. Their preventing hands were just stoking the fire in her middle, pushing her toward the brink of hysteria, keeping her from reaching the _one_ thing she realized she _needed_ in this world, and she _could not let that happen again._ She felt her chi thrumming through her veins, brought to the surface by the fever pitch of her emotions, and still those grasping claws tried to hold her back, but as she looked across and locked eyes with the man who had hurt Adora not once, but twice, and cost her the reward to a grueling career—and he _smiled_ —

She snapped.

“Get _away!_ ” she roared one final time, letting loose all the flaming heat boiling beneath her skin as a _literal_ flame that arced out from both hands as she swept them toward the angry crowd. It illuminated their shocked expressions in orange light and sent more than a few figures stumbling, their clothes smoldering, and—

 _That_ made them back off.

In fact, suddenly Catra was standing alone in the middle of the ring, her hands smoking and her chest heaving as she continued to stare down Rong fucking Stonefist. The spectators that had been so bent on stopping her now stood back at a distance they assumed safe.

At first it was silent in the cavern, but it didn’t take long for the murmurs to start:

“She’s a bender.”

“A bender, in the Underground!”

“I thought we were safe!”

“Outrage!”

“Cheating—”

“Oppressor—”

“Amon would make sure she doesn’t hurt anyone else.”

“Get her!”

“No, she’s dangerous!”

Catra whipped around to breathe a furious jet of fire over their heads just to prove that last point. It was too late to keep up appearances, anyway; everyone in the place had now seen her face outlined in burning orange and wouldn’t forget it soon. She took a bitter pleasure in the way the mutterers gasped and pulled back from her again.

If she was going to go down, she was going to make this worth it.

And she was going to make sure Adora could keep going without her.

While everyone was still reeling, Catra turned and sprinted to Adora's side. Stonefist let her go without putting up a fight. He knew he’d already won. Catra knew it, too, and vowed to make him pay for it. She communicated that through a deadly glare as she knelt over the limp form of her companion, and only her urgency to escape kept her from fulfilling that vow right now and wiping that _fucking_ smirk off his ugly face.

But Adora was more important.

Catra knelt by her and shoved her arms beneath her body, frantically grasping for purchase on her taller, heavier form. Pure adrenaline lent her the strength to gather her legs under her and push to her feet with Adora in her arms. That golden head lolled against her shoulder and Catra spared a glance toward Adora’s face, noting the ashen color of her cheeks, the bruises spreading on her skin.

 _Hold on,_ she pleaded. Then she hefted the other girl’s dense body in her arms and ran for the exit as fast as she could with such a heavy burden.

A few belligerent Equalists from the crowd made as if to block her path, but Catra quickly scattered them with another haphazard stream of flame from her throat. It shot above their heads—Catra didn’t need any charges of murder piled on top of the debt she already owed—but it did the job. No one dared touch her as she bore Adora's beaten body down the path to the exit and out into the tunnel.

Her breath was ragged in her lungs as she jogged through the stone passageway and toward the door to the staircase, energy waning as escape came within sight.

 _Please, please, please_ , she begged any benevolent beings who may have been listening. _Don’t let them follow us._ She was so close. They were almost out. They were almost safe.

Well— _Adora_ was almost safe. Catra knew that she herself had probably just painted a huge target on her back. Now that an amphitheater full of Equalists had caught a glimpse of her face; witnessed her fury; had their eyebrows singed off by her fire, they would not rest without retribution. They would sic Amon on her trail, and her bending would be done for.

Right now that didn’t bother her as much as the sickly hue of Adora's unconscious face or the blood now staining her shirt over her ribs.

Catra hardened her resolve and kept running, swearing to herself that she would save Adora before she let any Equalist take her down.

She reached the opening to the staircase, bounded up the wooden steps, struggling over the gap she’d made on her first trip here, and arrived at the landing feeling like her chest was bursting. 

Shouts and footsteps were echoing down the tunnel she’d just vacated. Apparently Amon’s fanclub had rallied.

Catra went to one knee and lowered Adora to the ground to rest her arms for a heartbeat. Then, as the noises clamored closer, she turned and whipped out another jet of flame to sweep the foot of the stairs. The old wood caught like a match and flared up, painting the ugly stairwell in orange. Catra watched the flames rise grimly. How different her first time here had been. Adora had been leading her, silent and stoic, toward an uncertain fate, their argument still fresh in her mind, and yet she still turned to catch Catra when she fell. So much of their relationship was like that—Adora forgiving her over and over for worse and worse fuckups, but this time—

This time the path was burning, and she doubted it would ever be repaired.

As the heat fluttered against her face and the stairs blackened and crumbled below her, Catra looked down at Adora and felt her heart flutter, too.

“I’m sorry, Adora,” she whispered onto deaf ears, her voice rough from running and smoke.

Adora didn’t stir.

... 


	11. Chapter 11

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I hereby offer you one (1) fluff break

Catra carried Adora to the drug den because she doubted the safety of her apartment over Loo-Kee. Too many people came and went from the restaurant for them to escape notice. Here, though, there was no one around to expose them to the authorities—or the chi blockers; whoever came first.

Unfortunately, there was also no soft mattress here to deposit Adora's injured form upon, nor was there any healing salve close at hand to correct that condition. Catra debated whether she should run to Loo-Kee and get it or remain by Adora's side just in case she woke soon.

Then again, would Adora even want her here when she awoke? Would she acknowledge what Catra had done to save her, or had Catra wronged her too badly to ever return from? Was that better than coming to alone and confused? Catra chewed her evening nails and fought with herself.

It was the bloodstain slowly growing across the fabric of Adora's shirt that finally tipped the scales. Her wound was going to need attention, and the best Catra could do right now was get her hands on that salve. She forced her tired body into a standing position and looked back down at Adora where she lay on the couch.

“Don’t go anywhere, princess,” she muttered over the disturbing rattle of the girl’s breathing. 

Then, like a shadow made of smoke and regret, she slipped out into the night.

… 

Salve acquired, Catra returned to her hideout and Adora's still-unconscious body, settling in beside her with the canister in her hand but hesitant to peel her shirt back and start prodding at her wounds while she was still unconscious. Catra did not want her to awaken both confused and exposed.

So, torn between worrying about Adora's wounds and about her emotional comfort, she waited.

For a long time, Catra just watched her, her own emotions a raging whirlwind pulling her in every direction. Sometimes she was most upset about the gall of Adora's attacker—that _fucking_ Stonefist—and she sat there trying to keep her rage from flickering into physical flame; trying to keep from running out into the night with murder in mind. Sometimes she was taken with a wave of sorrow and biting guilt at the sad state of her and Adora’s own relationship; the knowledge that even though she’d helped Adora this time, it would never be enough. Sometimes she was overwhelmed with the burning desire to reach out and touch, while she still could, the relaxed planes of Adora's face, to give herself some semblance of the comfort they’d shared before.

She didn’t. She didn’t do anything except sit and watch and wait, and she hated every second of it.

It was more than an hour before she was finally given relief—and, at the same time, a sense of crushing dread.

The first sign that Adora was coming to was a twitch of her face. Then her brow furrowed and her lips turned down like the pain had just pierced through the protective veil of unconsciousness for the first time. Then she groaned, shifted, and her hands came up: one clutching at her head, the other her ribs.

Catra shot out her own to stop them, terrified that Adora would hurt herself worse before she could fully wake. 

The touch of her skin startled Adora into awareness. Her eyes fluttered open as her chest jumped in a gasp, and then her face twisted into a grimace again as the gesture disturbed her wound. She rolled her battered head to the side, eyes wandering, unfocused, trying to remember where she was. Catra removed her hands quickly and bit her lip, unsure how her presence would be taken. 

Adora rubbed her own wrist absently, maybe searching for Catra's lost touch or maybe trying to rid her skin of its memory. Catra preferred not to guess. Instead she sat and tried to hold her breath and avoid suffocating at the same time and waited for Adora to recover her senses.

When those cloudy sky eyes finally cleared enough to focus on her, they widened perceptibly.

Catra didn’t have any idea what to say after everything, so she settled with a lame, “Hey.” 

Adora's throat jumped in a painful swallow, her expression a tumultuous mix of shock, hurt, worry and distrust. Her voice wouldn’t work at first, but on a second try she managed, “C-Catra?”

“Yeah.” Catra dropped her eyes and waited for Adora to kick her out, or slap her across the face, or administer any of a wide variety of well-deserved punishments, really, to repay the slashes that still stood out stark and red from the paleness of her cheek.

But she didn’t. Instead, after a long pause, she reached out with an unsteady hand to touch Catra's face, as if she couldn’t really believe that she was real.

“You look awful,” she said finally, her voice rough and cracking.

“You should talk,” mumbled back Catra, tilting her head back so Adora's fingers fell away. She didn’t deserve such a gentle touch. She didn’t deserve anything but hell from Adora, because that’s what she’d inflicted on her. She was anxious to deflect the topic away from herself before she cracked under the weight of Adora’s tenderness or Adora remembered to be furious with her.

But, “When was your last hit?” Adora asked anyway, so caring, as if Catra had never played her heart for a few yuan, and that just made her feel worse.

She sighed and grit her teeth but had little option but to answer, “I don’t know.”

“Catra.” Adora's voice broke on her name. “You could hurt yourself, just cutting off—”

“This is more important,” Catra whispered to keep hers from doing the same, raising the canister of salve she had retrieved from Loo-Kee’s upstairs. The front doors had been open even though the shop was dark, as if Razz had known she was coming. 

“No it’s not,” Adora argued tightly. “Catra, I’ve gotten banged up before. I can—”

“You’re not okay. Don’t try to lie to me.”

“I’m—ugh!” Raising her voice aggravated Adora's wounds enough to make her grip her middle in pain, and that was proof enough of Catra’s point that she stopped trying to argue. Instead she leaned carefully back against the couch cushions, panting slightly, and let her eyes rove over their surroundings. When she turned her head, her scars glared crimson in the dim, and Catra looked away. There was a hint of perfectly well-deserved suspicion in her voice when she finally asked, “How did I get here?”

“I carried you,” Catra provided, so soft it was almost imperceptible.

“You—?” Adora went from surprised to intense in an instant, beginning to lean forward again but then thinking better of it when it made her face go pale. “Catra, what happened?”

Catra pressed her down with a gentle hand on her shoulder. Her gut uncoiled a fraction in relief when Adora didn’t shrug her off. “You don’t remember?”

The wounded girl settled for fixing her eyes unwaveringly on Catra's face and shook her head.

Catra took a long, deep breath to buy herself time to think. She didn’t want to lie to Adora ever again, but she also didn’t want to cause her more pain by dropping bad news on her right now. She tightened her jaw and went with the truth. “Your opponent used earthbending to knock you down. I called him on it, tried to stop the match, but everyone else—” She shrugged and shook her head hopelessly. “He was going to hurt you. No one was doing anything. They were all on me instead. I—I scared them off and got you out as fast as I could.” She bowed her head against the look that spread over Adora's face, mumbling lamely, “No time to grab your bag. Sorry.”

“How?” Adora demanded. Catra knew exactly what she meant and was silent. So she repeated, “Catra, how did you scare them off?”

Catra swallowed dry. “I…used fire.”

“They saw you bend?” Adora choked out. “All of them?” At Catra's confirming nod, all the breath slowly, painfully left her lungs. “Catra…you know it’s an anti-bending establishment. A lot of the people in the crowd have sided with Amon.”

“I know,” Catra responded hoarsely.

“You know what they’ll do if they find you.” Adora's voice was a whisper, and her eyes shined with welling tears—of regret? Sympathy? Genuine sadness?

Catra met her moist eyes and repeated, a little stronger, “I know.”

“You shouldn’t have risked yourself to save me,” the other girl protested. “Catra, if you—if anything happens to you because of me, I’ll—”

“My thoughts exactly. That’s why I had to do it.”

“Catra.”

“I couldn’t let that thug lay another finger on you. I couldn’t let him hurt you. Especially after—” Catra felt herself getting shaky with emotion, too, and barely had the heart to fight it. She reached out and let her fingers collide with Adora's, saying instead, “Energies intertwined, remember?”

“But the chi blockers. They’ll—” Adora clenched her jaw to keep her tears from spilling over and failed. She swiped at them quickly, as if unwilling to let Catra see, but to Catra they were everything. They meant Adora still cared. They meant she had a chance.

So, “Shh,” she soothed, cradling the other girl’s scarred cheek and then sliding her shaky hand back into her hair, all reservations born of their fight pushed aside. She couldn’t comprehend how Adora wasn’t furious at her, but she would take this miracle and run. She combed her fingers through the golden strands comfortingly—a futile attempt, but one she couldn’t help. Her fingers brushed the knot where Adora’s head had hit the cage and caressed it like an apology, feather-light. “You’re worth it.”

“I’m not,” Adora protested brokenly. “Not your bending.” her voice wavered and her next breath was ragged as she surged forward and pulled Catra against her chest. “I’ll protect you,” she said in her ear, “I promise. I’ll protect you.” And the oath sounded empty already, but Catra was far from caring about that, too. She would give her life for Adora in order to pay for her sins. Her bending was not too steep a price to pay for her safety. Not to her.

But Adora obviously did not feel the same. 

Catra wrapped her own arms around the other girl, and they stayed curled miserably together long after their mutual trembling subsided—and that alone took a while. 

Catra felt for her. She did. But she would not have changed her choices for a thing. Not after what she’d done.

Not when it came to Adora.

She was beginning to understand the nature of their linked energies, she thought. In her head, the feeling had a different name. She just couldn’t let herself acknowledge it yet. Instead she just let herself exist in this moment, holding Adora and letting Adora hold her with no strings attached.

It was strange, but far from bad. It felt right. It felt safe. It felt like forgiveness.

The only thing putting a damper on the moment was the fact that Adora's front was still sticky with blood from an open wound. She had to get that taken care of as soon as possible.

So, reluctantly, “Hey,” Catra said at length, gently so it wouldn’t be a shock after the silence. "We need to get your wound treated.”

Adora gave a weak sound of assent and drew back, wiping the heel of her hand across her moist eyes to dry them. Catra tried not to let the soft feelings in her chest consume her. It wouldn’t help either of them, especially if Catra was about to try to administer precise medical care. She wouldn’t be able to hide the shake in her hands then. She shook her head sharply to clear it and gripped the now-familiar container of healing salve, focusing on her task. She hoped it would be enough this time.

As Adora lay down against her makeshift mattress, she took a deep, steadying breath before reaching out to peel the athletic shirt back from her ribs.

The sight of the wound hit Catra like a kick to the gut, as it were.

An ugly, bloody gash the size of a man’s heel dented the bottom left edge of her ribcage. Around it was a mottled field of black and blue, and around that was a ring of green. The way Adora winced when she breathed too deep was evidence enough that at least one rib was fractured. The whole mess was swollen an inch above the rest of her torso.

Catra let her breath out slowly through her nose as she assessed the wound, trying not to let anxiety overwhelm her. This wound would definitely take some more care than a simple healing salve. She’d have to find anti-inflammatory medicine, bandages, pain pills, antiseptics, maybe more. It would cost a lot, and she was not about to ask for Adora's funds. Or take them, for that matter. Never again.

“Is it that bad?” asked Adora weakly, maybe in an attempt to joke.

Catra grimaced. “It’s…yeah. Salve isn’t going to cut it this time, but that’s the best we have right now.”

Adora sighed and let her head drop back against the cushions. “I guess there goes my chance for a rematch.”

“I’d rather find that guy and kick his ass for you,” Catra responded with conviction. She felt her face begin to heat as her intensity surprised herself and busied herself with the salve to hide it. 

Adora looked up again. “Catra…”

“Hold still.” Catra scooped a portion of the green paste out of the can, gathered her composure, and closed the distance to apply it to Adora's skin. She tried not to notice the catch in the other girl’s breath as they knowingly touched for the first time since their fight. Since Catra gave her those slashes on her cheek. Since a rift grew between them to match the rift in her skin. But she did, and her blush climbed to her ears.

She wished their circumstances were different.

All she could do now, though, was gently apply Razz’s mixture to the bruises on her companion’s torso, slowly working inward toward the nasty cut in the center of the wound. They didn’t speak. All Catra was aware of was the sound of Adora's breath; the feel of her skin; the heat coming off her body; the shape of her in the darkness.

She wondered if this would atone for her betrayal.

She doubted it.

Catra's fingers prodded a painful spot, and Adora bit back a whimper and fisted her hand in the cushion behind her leg, though she tried to hide it. The brunette winced and tried to make her touch even gentler, her own ribs aching with empathy, but she _had_ to treat this wound. She couldn’t stop until the worst of it was over.

So, instead, “I know,” she murmured between her teeth as she kept working. “I know, baby, I’m sorry.” She held her breath to keep her hand steady and finished dabbing the salve around the worst part of the wound, and—

It took that long for her to register what had just come out of her mouth.

And then it hit her, and her heart froze in its cage. 

“Oh, shit,” she blurted, recoiling, “I’m sorry, I don’t know why I—”

Adora's hand came up and caught her wrist in an instant. “Don’t,” she said on a gasp, and Catra knew she must have felt her heart racing in her pulse point. “Don’t pull away again.”

Catra's mouth hung open to argue, but whatever she’d meant to say had died in her throat. _I have to_. _I_ have _to._ Adora's look was too heavy; Catra's embarrassment too hot. She needed to get away, for both their sakes, no matter what Adora said. Adora didn’t _understand._ Catra was just going to keep screwing things up until—

Adora could feel her panicking. She grabbed Catra’s other wrist to steady her as she had many times before, but this time Catra pulled, and Adora pulled back harder.

The sudden wrench on her arms threw Catra off balance, and she pitched forward. She caught herself by planting her knees on either side of the other girl’s hips, and Adora supported her upper half with her hands still on her wrists, and Catra was staring down at her with her middle _flaming_ where they touched and her face following suit and this was _too much_ and—

“Hey,” Adora cut into her spiral sharply. Her face was so close. Her mouth was so close. “ _Stay_.”

The shape of that single word was the most beautiful thing Catra had ever seen Adora's lips do. Her eyes locked on those lips; on that beauty, and somehow it dashed aside all her anxiety to cut right to her heart, and she found her heartbeat slowing; her breathing deepening. She became sharply aware of the brush of Adora's fingers against her arms and the buffet of her breath on her own mouth and the shape of her body beneath her.

She was falling before she even knew it; leaning down slowly, melting into that grounding touch. Maybe she could stay this time. Maybe she should. Maybe this would fix things.

She let one of her arms uncoil from its tense defensive position and relocated it to the cushion beside Adora's head, slowly, shivering at the sensation of the other girl’s hand sliding up to her bicep as she moved. The other she lowered to brace herself next to Adora's abdomen so she could keep leaning down, _lost_ in Adora, her fears retreating to a dull roar in the back of her mind.

Why did Catra keep resisting this? Resisting her? It all seemed so pointless, now with Adora's heavy-lidded eyes and flawless lips the only thing in her vision; the most pressing thing on her mind. Why couldn’t she just give in and let herself _feel_ this?

Catra let her eyes flutter closed as she zeroed in on Adora's lips and tilted her head just slightly, clearing them a path, hearing the other girl’s breath catch in anticipation and—

“Ow! Fuck,” Adora hissed in pain, her grip suddenly going viselike on Catra's lower arm.

Catra jerked back, taking her weight off the other girl where she hadn’t even realized she was pressing against her wound. “Sorry,” she gasped out, finding that she was out of breath, all the air squeezed out of her lungs by the combined pressure of arousal and guilt. “Spirits, I—are you okay?”

Adora was gripping her wound, a grimace on her face, but she nodded. “It’s okay. I…” She took a deep breath, and it shuddered on the way out. “It was more than okay.”

Catra felt her heart skip. _What was I just about to do?_ Adora had just woken up, for spirits’ sake! And they still hadn’t really made up! And she was wounded! Her head probably wasn’t even clear. Was Catra really going to take advantage of her like that?

But what she’d just said—

“Let’s, uh—“ Catra cleared her throat and looked away. She rubbed her arm where Adora had grabbed it, not in pain but in lament of the lost touch. _What the fuck are we doing?_ She wasn’t ready to answer that right now. So, “You need to rest,” she deflected, like a coward, as usual.

Adora's lungs emptied slowly on another exhale, and the breeze of her breath on Catra's lips almost overpowered her resolve. “Okay,” she agreed, and Catra tried to pretend that she didn’t sound disappointed.

She slid off of the other girl to lie beside her instead, wedging herself between her body and the couch back. Adora scooted toward the edge of the cushions to give her a sliver of extra space, and Catra murmured her thanks. They settled in with Adora's shoulder to Catra's chest, Catra's arm around Adora's lower abdomen to secure them both. It was awkward, after their fight and especially after the close call they’d just shared, but when Catra whispered, “Is this okay?” her companion’s nod was immediate. Resolute.

As they lay there in the dim, huddled together, all kinds of damaged, Catra's mind wandered. The thought that kept eating at her most, as her heart refused to quiet at her proximity to the other girl, was,

 _What the fuck are_ we?

…

  
  


Catra woke in the middle of the night to a violent tremor wracking her body. It only took a split second to register that it wasn’t hers.

Adora was now lying with her back to Catra's chest and her legs curled up tightly. Her uncovered body was shivering from top to toe, and their proximity made the unpleasant buzz spread to Catra, too.

Not a good sign.

Catra stirred and wordlessly shifted to wrap her arms around the other girl, careful to avoid the wounded area on her ribs. She could tell from the change in Adora's breathing that she was already awake.

“What’s wrong?” she whispered into the darkness.

“I—I’m just cold,” came Adora's weak voice. A pause, and then, “I think it’s fever.”

Catra sighed sympathetically against the nape of Adora's neck. Again she fought down the bubbling anger that still roiled in her gut at the thought of what had befallen this girl. Adora had gotten dealt an unfair hand and it made Catra want to forsake her newfound stability to track down every single one of the thugs behind it and scratch their faces off herself. But Adora needed her right now. So instead, Catra forced her head level so she could help what little she could. 

An idea occurred to her, and she began to withdraw her arms from around Adora to test it, but the other girl made a noise of protest and caught her wrists to stop her retreat.

“Adora,” she breathed, and was relieved when she received no rebuke for using her real name again. “Do you trust me?”

Adora might have shivered against her in something other than cold, but said nothing for a long moment; long enough that Catra felt old guilt seeping into her gut like a sickness. What if Adora said no? What if Catra had not earned that trust back? What if she had still not done enough? What if Adora never—

“Yes,” the girl finally replied on a shaky exhale, and she slowly released Catra's wrists.

Catra let out her own sigh, relieved, and felt tension she didn’t know she’d been holding slide from her muscles. “Okay,” she said, moving her hands tentatively over Adora's body so one rested on her upper chest and one covered her stomach. “Let me know if that changes.”

Adora gave a little hum of confirmation, and Catra took that as permission to continue.

She closed her eyes and sent her inner senses downward to where her chi energy swirled, ebbing and flowing slightly like the ocean. She took hold of it and opened a tiny path to guide it to her hands, drawing upon the pleasant warmth that Adora's presence gave her to inspire just a hint of heat.

After a breathless second, her palms began to glow—not with flame, but with just a suggestion of cozy embers.

Adora gasped when the illumination first began, but did not voice any complaints. Catra breathed deeply and steadily to keep her hold on the most subtle use of bending she had ever managed. Her emotions were stable without being deadened by má or alcohol, for once, as Adora's body against her served to ground her. It occurred to her briefly that this would have been impossible just a short time ago.

Adora held as still as she could in Catra's grip as the warmth seeped in and her shivering gradually ceased. Her taut shoulders came uncoiled, and she sank into Catra's touch with increasing comfort.

Catra waited until she had gone totally still and limp, perhaps surrendered to sleep, before finally letting the glow fade. The room seemed cold as the points of light disappeared, but Adora's shivering did not return.

It was a long time before either of them spoke. 

Adora was the first. “Thank you,” she whispered, reaching up to clasp one of Catra's hands in her own.

For an instant, that expression of gratitude made a tongue of warmth flare up in Catra's chest, but it was immediately replaced by cold shame. She didn’t _deserve_ that gratitude. If anything, helping Adora was her due, not any act of exceptional virtue. She didn’t deserve Adora's thanks. She only hoped she could earn her forgiveness. 

She couldn’t put it off any longer. She had talk to Adora about this, even if it seemed like Adora was willing to look past it for now. She had to know where exactly they stood, especially if her emotions were going to run so high whenever the two of them were close. So instead of accepting Adora’s simple, agonizing words, Catra swallowed past the lump in her throat and croaked out, ”I’m sorry about what I did.”

Adora's shoulders stiffened in her embrace for a split second before she relaxed with a long sigh. Of disappointment? Relief? Catra couldn’t tell without seeing her face. 

But, “I know,” were the words Adora said gently into the quiet. She pressed herself back slightly into Catra's arms. “I forgive you.”

Catra was floored. There was no way it was that easy. There was no way Adora could have forgiven her actions so quickly, not when—not when Catra had been so _despicable_ to the one person who had ever cared. “Why?” she said, a little too sharp with hysteria. “I betrayed you. I used you. I—”

“Catra.” The sound of her name on Adora's lips was powerful enough to stop her in her tracks. “I care more about you than about a few missing yuan. I just wish you had told me.”

“I _hurt_ you,” Catra insisted, wondering why Adora couldn’t just _understand_.

Adora turned over on the couch, despite Catra's protests and the way she knew her wound must have screamed. She faced her companion in the darkness and though Catra couldn’t make out the blue-gray of her irises, she could _feel_ their heat on her.

“You hurt me because you were hurting,” she maintained, her breath again a breeze directly on Catra's lips, and Catra had to fight to keep from flinching automatically, because _spirits_ , if Adora leaned in just a little further and they resumed where they'd left off _—_

She cut off that thought instantly.

“That’s not an excuse. It was wrong and I shouldn’t have done it. Any of it. All I was thinking about was getting my next hit and when you caught me—”

“I _know_ ,” Adora repeated, with more conviction, though no less gentleness. She reached up and brushed her bruised knuckles against Catra's cheek, and the brunette was suddenly very glad that it was dark enough that her blush was invisible. “And I forgive you.”

Catra let her breath come out in a shudder and couldn’t help but lean into that sweet contact. There weren’t words to express the relief she felt knowing that Adora didn’t hate her for what she’d done, even when she would have been completely justified in doing so.

She still couldn’t fathom _why_ , though. Why didn’t Adora hate her? Why did she still trust her? Why was she snuggling closer to her chest, a slight hitch in her breath evidence that the action made her wound smart yet embracing Catra anyway?

Why did Catra let her?

She thought that maybe she knew, deep down where she couldn’t yet let the light reach.

And it was stronger now than ever before.

She wasn’t sure if she wanted to keep fighting it. Not after she’d felt what it was like to live without it.

She buried her nose in Adora's hair and held her tighter.

…


	12. Chapter 12

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> hold on tight

Catra continued to take care of Adora throughout her recovery. Each day she would fill her quota at the factory, head straight to Loo-Kee to buy them both dinner, and return to the drug den to spend the rest of the night by Adora's side, tending her wounds and keeping her company. 

Each night, she would find herself mulling over the idea of going out to hunt down the bastard who’d caused this, but at the same time, she knew that without Stonefist she and Adora would not have come back together. She wouldn’t have been forgiven, and there was no guarantee that she would have made it through another week. So even though part of her burned for revenge, a larger part was beginning to give fate a grain of credit. As much as she hated Stonefist, for now, she would worry about Adora and Adora alone.

Catra spent her extra money on medicine and bandages instead of má, now, and even though she had a constant headache and an even more constant nagging for it at the forefront of her mind, it was better this way. It was time she started setting her priorities straight. She had to repay Adora somehow, after all. And in a way, Adora was providing for her, too. She was a source of comfort more meaningful and lasting than má could ever be. And…

And Catra liked this. She liked caring for Adora. She liked being able to heal rather than hurt, for once. And she liked the way they would curl up on the couch side by side each night, no longer just companions but…partners, almost. She liked having someone trust and depend on her and being able to trust back. Under her care, Adora healed steadily but slowly. Her wound closed and scabbed and her range of motion gradually broadened. She was able to get around on her own. She returned to some semblance of the girl who had been Shira.

Her progress was met with less enthusiasm than it should have been, though. The looming threat of a chi blocker raid hung over their heads even more strongly than Catra's withdrawal from má. 

Despite the warmth they shared each night, their emotions seemed muted in the face of that possibility, the only exceptions being anxiety and fear.

That and the other one; the one that Catra still couldn’t bring herself to name.

…

When they came, they came at night.

The chi blockers crashed through the grimy opaque window and the crooked door and one even seemed to drop down from the ceiling like she’d been there the whole time. She could have been, for all it mattered.

Catra fought viciously, of course. Adora did too, as much as she could, but even together they were sorely outnumbered by the team from Amon.

Adora screamed the whole time the chi blockers were dragging Catra's thrashing form from what used to be her safe haven. They loaded her into a truck and slammed the doors on her when her last glimpse of Adora was still her desperate, tear-streaked face half-illuminated by a streetlight.

The last echo of her scream sounded a little like, “I love you.”

Catra figured it was just her withdrawal playing tricks on her mind.

…

The truck ride to who-knows-where passed like a nightmare. All Catra could see through her swollen eyes and hazy mind were the bars of light flashing through the window onto the shapes of her captors as they drove. That and the glowing green eye sockets of the chi blockers’ masks. Everything else swam in smudged darkness; the shadows deep enough that they could have held anything. She wasn’t sure which was worse: seeing them or not.

Her head lolled limply on her neck as the pain in her body threatened to drag her into unconsciousness. The chi blockers had given her a good beating in exchange for the burns three of them now sported. She tried to keep her eyes open past the bruises on her face, afraid to let herself slip away, because she wasn’t sure what she would wake up to. Or whether she would wake at all.

Her hands were cuffed uncomfortably tight between her knees. She willed a flame to pool in her palm, low enough that maybe it would be hidden from view while she gathered her strength, but nothing happened. It felt like a wall had risen between her and her chi. She had no idea how those monsters had done it; a few hits to a few certain points on her body and her bending was blocked. The sensation stirred panic in her chest, and she wondered how much worse it would be when that wall became permanent. That’s what was about to happen, after all.

A sudden surge of indignant rage possessed her, ramming past her half-conscious inhibitions. “Fuck Amon,” she blurted aloud through puffy lips.

 _Fuck him!_ she repeated internally. How dare he do this to people? How dare he uproot their lives and rip away a vital part of their being just because _he_ thought it was bad? How dare he force people into the mold he’d decided they should fit without a thought for their perspective? How dare he hurt them in the name of the ‘greater good’—a concept _he’d_ invented? How dare he hurt _her?_ And the nightmare-faced chi blockers who’d done his bidding were just as guilty. “Fuck all of you!”

She strained against her bonds, physical and metaphysical, as one of the chi blockers hopped to his feet to punish her for that. She dug deep into the well of energy at her core, desperate for some trickle of chi to defend herself with, but it still ran dry. Instead she just snarled curses at the wiry enemy until he stalked up right before her and slammed her back into the metal wall by her throat.

“Shut up!” he hissed gruffly; obviously young and hotheaded; obviously very fired up by her insults.

Catra couldn’t speak with her throat clutched in his hand, so she settled for spitting directly into his glowing green eye-holes.

He crashed his fist into her jaw and her tenuous hold on consciousness dissolved.

… 

When Catra regained awareness, she wasn’t sure if she’d actually awakened or just surfaced in another nightmare.

She was strung between two chi blockers, her arms prickling with pins and needles from being held up so long. Before her stretched a shuffling line of men and women in blindfolds, their backs bowed and their hands tied like hers. She wondered momentarily why she was not blinded like them, but then realized that she had been; her own blindfold had just slipped down around her throat. When she craned her neck to peer behind her, the line of people trailed all the way down the path behind her as well. She knew where she was instantly from her view of the Republic City skyline across the bay: Air Temple Island.

When she looked back up the incline before her she could see where the path leveled off at a courtyard where the crowd of chi blockers was thicker. The line ended there.

A pitch-black tendril of dread snaked through her from top to toe. This was it. This was where it would happen. She was waiting her turn to have her bending torn from her being forever; marching to her fate like a hog to the slaughter.

She couldn’t let that happen. She wouldn’t go so quietly.

Her heart in her throat, pounding in her ears, aching in her chest, Catra surreptitiously gathered her feet beneath her. A quick glance to either side told her that her captors had their attention fixed on the crowded courtyard that was their destination. Their grip on her arms was firm but not overly tight. Breakable. 

If she acted quickly enough, she should be able to tear free. Then it was a matter of evading the rest of the chi blockers attending the line, making it down to the shore, and… 

And then what?

Catra shook her head slightly, brushing away that thought. That was a problem for future Catra. Right now she had to worry about getting free of the two holding her.

She held her breath and decided on a count of three. She couldn’t afford to wait any longer; the chi blockers were dragging her ever nearer the courtyard where she knew Amon stood.

_One._

She grit her teeth and sent a probing finger of energy into her sea of chi, trying to determine if her bending had returned yet. She couldn’t quite tell, but it felt normal enough. She would just have to hope.

_Two._

She let her eyes flick to and fro between her captors, planning out exactly how she would twist to free herself and then lash out to make sure they didn’t follow right away. She tensed her muscles, preparing to spring.

_T—_

“Catra!”

A scream from further down the line startled her out of her focus. Her captors whipped around with her in between and Catra jerked her head up to peer over the heads of the poor souls behind her and _there,_ racing up the hillside toward her, golden ponytail flashing—

“Adora!” she choked out before she could stop herself, and now her two chi blockers definitely knew she was conscious, and she had no more time to prepare herself before she had to act.

She bucked violently, tearing her right arm free of the enemy’s hold and bringing her elbow into the other chi blocker’s gut to release her left. As soon as she was out of their hold she lunged back down the path toward the girl running to her aid. “Adora,” she called again, hardly believing her eyes.

 _What are you doing?_ she wanted to call. _Why are you here? He’ll hurt you too!_

_I’m not worth it!_

But she was using all her breath to pump her unsteady legs out of the grasp of the chi blockers, now recovered and chasing after her.

She was close enough to see the pale of Adora's face. She could make out the two red lines on her jaw and she’d never seen a more welcome sight. She was almost there. If she just—

A hand caught her by the hood and yanked her to a screeching halt. She felt her head whip back and her feet shoot out in front of her and the world spun for an instant before her back hit the dirt and they were on her.

She started growling, flailing her bound arms in search of any purchase for her no-longer-ragged nails, but there were more chi blockers than she had arms and they pinned her by sheer numbers as she squirmed and struggled.

She could hear Adora yell for her again, still closer, and the sound gave her a surge of energy. She channeled it from her stomach into her chest, up her throat and _out_ in a roar of furious orange flame. The Equalists on top of her scattered like roaches in the searing blast. The light caught on the eye holes of their haunting masks and Catra saw demons staring down at her; angry, unforgiving.

She scrambled up, skinning elbows and knees, and shoved through the pack of reeling chi blockers who had converged on her, tearing past grasping hands and flying fists because she was almost to Adora, and—

Chi blockers had surrounded Adora. One had hold of her arm, and more were trying to pin her other limbs but she was whirling in a deadly dance, her free fist jabbing and hooking into faces and stomachs and groins, sending enemies stumbling away with every strike. Even as danger smothered them and disaster hovered just within reach, Catra felt a rush of pure pride at the sight.

_That’s my girl._

She reached the throng and swung her bound hands out in a powerful arc, bringing a stream of fire with it. It parted the sea around Adora for just long enough for Catra to leap forward and catch Adora's reaching hand in both of hers, to feel their fingers brush, to see the glare of her own flame reflected in those earnest eyes.

“Adora!” she gasped at the wave of feeling that hit her at the contact. _Stronger together. Stronger together_ began resonating through her mind in time with the thumping of her heart, and she tightened her grip on her companion and lashed out a wild kick behind her, buying them half a second longer with another jet of flame, and Adora's fist shot over her shoulder to ward off an approaching enemy. Their eyes met, just for a moment.

Then a chi blocker’s fist caught Catra in the side and she doubled over, losing contact with her other half, and the rest of them rushed in and swarmed them with a flurry of strikes, blocking Catra's bending once again and cutting off all hope of escape.

“Catra!” Adora screamed a final time as Catra fell and the sea of chi blockers wrenched her away from any chance of lending her aid. Catra was breathing raggedly under the weight of a chi blocker’s body, taken with rage and sorrow but most of all regret that her face was pressed to the dirt so she was deprived of one last glimpse of the girl she—

“What is the meaning of this?” 

An angry voice cracked like a whip over the din, and though Catra had never heard it before she knew exactly who it belonged to.

The chi blockers around her stilled, and all went deadly quiet except the sounds of Adora still struggling against her enemies. Catra twisted her neck awkwardly to peer up the way the voice had come. 

Amon himself stood at the edge of the courtyard. Though his mask concealed his expression, Catra could feel his glare radiating anger from where she lay.

One of the chi blockers atop her cleared his throat. “A girl,” he provided. His voice sounded normal. Innocent. His knee grinding into her spine was not. “She tried to escape.” 

“It’s under control now,” a second Equalist assured, hauling Catra painfully up by her shoulders to demonstrate.

“And who is this?” asked Amon, deadly soft yet still somehow audible, stretching out his hand almost lazily to Adora. “A friend? A lover, perhaps?”

The chi blockers who held Adora began to drag her forward, toward the steps, and she never stopped fighting against their grip.

“Keep your hands off her!” Catra spat so loud it tore at her bruised throat. She struggled against her own restraints and received a kick to the back of the knees in response, which sent her to the cobbles again. She _so_ wished that she had her bending right now. She would scar the shit out of the other half of Amon’s face.

“She’s not a bender, sir,” said the chi blocker who had spoken first.

Adora was at the stairs. Amon had descended the first few steps to intercept her and reached out toward her, but now his hand froze halfway on its way to her face. “No?” he said as if pleasantly surprised. “Then she must be one of us.”

Adora _raged_ against her captors’ grip. “I am _not!_ I am her friend! Benders are not evil; they’re people just like the rest of us! You can’t—”

Amon backhanded her across the face and Catra saw two tiny drops of blood spray from her mouth to the dirt. Her own blood _boiled_.

“Until benders and nonbenders can exist in a world together where one does not oppress the other, they cannot be _friends,_ ” Amon declared, his own fury tightly restrained beneath his voice. Then he looked up sharply and waved to the men holding Catra. “Bring her.” Then to the ones behind Adora: “Have her watch.”

“ _No!_ ” Adora's shriek split the air, but cut off abruptly when Amon’s fist rammed into her diaphragm. 

Catra took her own turn to yell in outrage, tears coming to her eyes as her efforts to throw off her enemies proved infuriatingly futile. All she could do was watch her best and only friend cough and wheeze and dangle helplessly between two Equalists as they dragged her off to the side where she would have a perfect view of what was about to occur.

Catra herself was brought forcibly back up the hillside to the front of the line, sparing the poor bender who had knelt to meet his fate next for just a few moments. 

In the center of the courtyard, she was forced to her knees. She hated being on her knees. She hated having to crane her neck to keep a bead on her enemy. She hated being powerless, because it happened all too often. She raised her chin and tried to look resolute even as a chi blocker wrenched her head back by her hair to make her posture straight.

 _Fuck you. Fuck all of you._ She wanted to curse them, but her jaw was locked tight with fear.

Adora recovered her voice, however. As soon as she was able, she began shouting again, hoarser this time. She pleaded and threatened and bargained for Catra's safety, but it all fell on deaf ears. Her screams and protests faded into the background of Catra's awareness as Amon approached her, his looming presence and the chill of his eyes now visible behind the mask blotting out all else.

“Let this be an example to all of you who believe you can resist us,” he raised his voice to project to the line of cowering benders before him. He grasped Catra by the shoulder so that his thumb pressed into her sternum. His other hand lowered agonizingly slow toward Catra's forehead, hovering menacingly closer and closer until it was the only thing she could comprehend.

There was a breathless pause, like time had gone still, but all Catra could do was suffocate.

“There is no resisting justice.”

Amon’s hand descended.

When it met her skin it burned like ice.

Catra's back arched as agony hit her like the weight of the world.

She could feel it most in her stomach. It was like having her insides frozen, turned wrong-way-out, stretched into bands, and torn from her body through the points where Amon’s cold thumbs pressed into her skin. She could _feel_ her chi leaving her, and she was powerless to stop it.

She knew she was trembling violently, but her muscles were locked. Her mouth was stuck open and she wished she could speak; yell; curse this bastard and everything he stood for as she plummeted to the lowest point in her life, but her voice wouldn’t work. All she could do was stare helplessly into the black, polluted sky and experience the pure suffering of having her soul peeled in two and ripped out of her.

The worst part was that Adora had to see it happen.

Catra had no idea how long it lasted. She was only aware of a point that her pain turned into slightly less pain, and the sky spun out of her vision to be replaced by cold black earth. Something shoved her in the side, and her face pressed into that blackness.

A wave of nausea overtook her as she was lifted, dragged an indeterminate distance. Then it was replaced by pain again as she slumped back onto her face.

A softer touch replaced any that she had felt tonight. These hands were warm, strong, steadying. They ran over her back and cradled her head and pulled her up against something even warmer and stronger, rocking her back and forth. In the desolate emptiness of what was now her reality, those hands were her only solace.

“I’m sorry. I’m so sorry, Catra,” she heard in her ear, and she had no answer.

That’s the last thing Catra knew before darkness overwhelmed her.

…

“Adora!” Catra gasped out upon waking again, shooting upright and then immediately regretting it. Her entire body felt battered and there was a hollow feeling somewhere deeper than was completely corporeal. She cast around to determine where she was, wrapping her arms around herself in an instinctual protective gesture. 

Her surroundings were still dark, but wherever she was now was quiet. The surface below her was soft. Everything smelled like má. And—

“Adora,” Catra said again, in relief this time as her eyes adjusted enough to reveal the pale face sitting across from her. Adora seemed to be just rousing from sleep as well, if the silhouette of her flyaway hairs and the flash of her half-open eyes in the dark were anything to judge by. But she reached instantly for Catra, and Catra reached back and they clasped hands across what she now realized was her own couch.

“Catra,” Adora responded in a much more broken tone as she sat up to regard her. Her fingers were tight around her companion’s. “Are you—?” she couldn’t seem to finish. Only now did Catra realize that her face looked haggard; her eyes sunken and dead gray.

The events of earlier tonight crashed down on her like a boulder. _Amon,_ she remembered. A glimpse of a cold, pale hand flashed behind her eyes. Her forehead and collarbone went icy, and she pressed a hand to her chest, suddenly struggling to breathe. She stared wide-eyed at nothing and remembered. _My bending._

The hole in her chest yawned wider. She sent a tentative tendril down into the place where her chi lived, and—

A hoarse cry tore from her throat.

She’d known this was coming. She’d known this would happen. She’d expected it, and yet—

And _yet_ —

She was clawing, clutching at her chest now, as if she could find her lost well of energy if she just dug deep enough. Her breathing was ragged and she wasn’t getting enough air and her vision was going spotty _again_ but the prospect of passing out one more time tonight and maybe forgetting this all over again scared her almost as much as her bending being _gone,_ and—

“Catra.” Adora's hands were around her own, pulling them away from leaving trenches in her chest, enveloping them in grounding warmth instead of the freezing memory of _Amon_ and what he’d _done._ “Catra, please, stop.” The desperation in Adora's voice jarred Catra out of her stupor and she focused in on her companion’s face instead, remembering what had happened to _her._

“Did he hurt you?” she choked out through a constricted throat, pulling her hands free to bring them to Adora's face, searching for signs of injury.

Adora's brow furrowed and her mouth dropped open. “No. No, I— _me?_ What about _you?_ ” She grabbed Catra's wrists and leaned close. Her gray irises looked shattered and it wasn’t just the darkness. “He hurt _you,_ Catra, and I couldn’t do anything. I couldn’t—couldn’t—” Something like a sob choked off her words. “How are we supposed to _fix_ this?”

“I don’t think there is any fixing this,” Catra whispered, full of pain, not just for her lost bending but for Adora, too, because those words made her look so _defeated_. Catra let her eyes flicker over the other girl’s face, searching for some hint as to how to console her, and found none.

“There has to be.” Adora's voice fell to a tiny croak. “There has to be a way.”

Catra could see the shimmer of tears in her dulled eyes and her heart wrenched. She pushed forward and rested her forehead against Adora's, thumbs stroking at her cheeks in a futile attempt at comfort. “It isn’t your fault, you know,” she said softly.

Adora let out a long, miserable sigh, and her breath breezed steadily against Catra's lips. “I said I would protect you.”

“None of this is your fault.”

“I should have been more careful at the tournament. If I—”

“It isn’t your fault.”

“Your bending is _gone,_ Catra!” Adora's tears finally spilled over as she cried out in the darkness. “And if I could have done _anything_ different to prevent that, then it is my fault!”

Catra had nothing to say to that. If Adora would not listen to her, there was nothing she could do to change her mind. All she could do instead was wrap her arms around the taller girl, pull her close to her chest and let their shared warmth soothe what was left of their hearts. 

Adora let her. She threw her own arms around Catra's neck and buried her head in her shoulder to soak the collar of her tunic with her tears. Catra felt her own eyes sting and pressure build in her chest and for once she didn’t hold them back, instead letting herself join her companion in her sorrow. Once the dam was broken, she could not stop the sobs that wracked her hollowed chest as if she could make up for her lost bending with tears.

She did not regret her decision. She had taken a risk for Adora, and if she had a chance to go back and do it again, she would not have changed a thing. Adora was worth everything she had to give.

She cried because it still hurt like hell.

As Catra passed the next several minutes letting herself melt into Adora's touch, stroking that golden hair and breathing that familiar scent until their tears slowed, her own moist eyes roamed around the dim corners of the room. She noted the damage to the doorframe where the chi blockers had forced entry; the burn marks on the walls where she had put up a fight, and realized she was going to have to find a place to stay that didn’t bring back such traumatic memories.

Then she lowered her eyes, and her gaze fell on the table before her.

“Hey,” she murmured gently into Adora's neck. At the small noise of inquiry Adora made, she went on, “I know what might make both of us feel better.”

Adora pulled back from her embrace just enough to pin her with questioning red-rimmed eyes.

Catra reached for the tabletop, where her last rolled joint lay among the ruins of her spent supply of má. She’d left it here even during her withdrawal, too afraid to touch it for fear of what had happened last time. Too afraid to lose Adora again. But now… 

Adora followed her gesture, and this time she didn’t berate her or try to stop her. In fact, she grabbed the cigarette for her and looked around for a lighter, anxious to be able to do _anything_ to help at this point.

“Under the edge of the couch,” Catra murmured. Once Adora had bent down and uncovered it, the brunette took it and flicked it to life. Having to do it this way instead of with her fingers made the hole in her chest ache, and she lit the joint almost frantically, desperate to smother her despair in a cloud of leaf and quit _feeling_ so much.

The joint caught. Once it was smoldering, Catra dropped the lighter—the manifestation of her loss—and fell back onto the couch cushions with a small sense of relief. As soon as her back hit the moldy surface, Adora virtually climbed on top of her to bring their faces close, covering Catra's cheeks and forehead with apologetic kisses still wet with tears.

Catra closed her eyes and tried not to cry again herself, instead tangling her fingers in Adora's hair and pressing their brows together so she would stop. _It’s not your fault,_ she tried to insist again, but that didn’t make the tears quit spilling down both of their cheeks. She wished uselessly that their first kisses didn’t have to be like this, but why would anything ever go right for them?

They lay like that, miserable but together, until Adora reached down and ran her fingers over the knuckles of Catra's hand, reminding her of the joint clutched in her grip.

That was the first time Catra had completely forgotten má for Adora's sake, and she wished it meant more to her now.

She lifted it and took a draw. Adora pulled back just enough to let her lips hover over Catra's, so that when the brunette exhaled she could inhale slowly and draw the smoke into her own lungs. Catra felt the rest of the air rush out of her at the gesture. She’d never thought _Adora_ would—

 _Spirits,_ she was so intoxicating. Even as she let the shared smoke go, Adora stayed dangerously close, her lips just parted, so red, and the only thing Catra could comprehend. Catra watched them; wanted them; wondered what would happen if she closed the distance between them. Her heart pounded and her mind reeled as she took another pull and the air between them billowed gray and hot with more than just the fumes of má on their sluggish breaths.

“You can just ask,” Catra croaked, mind coming apart piece by piece under the influence of the drug and Adora's closeness; the way her swollen eyelids drooped over sultry blue-gray eyes and her body pinned Catra to the couch and her mouth stayed so _close—_

In response, Adora held out her hand for the cigarette. When Catra passed it to her, she settled back on her lap, unaware of the _waves_ she was sending through Catra’s body, and lifted it to take her own drag. Catra watched the way her sculpted lips closed around the joint and pulled, and even as Adora let the smoke go, Catra couldn’t stop staring. Adora had to notice, but she apparently didn’t care that much—Catra dared to consider maybe because she was thinking the same thing.

Adora passed the cigarette back and their fingers brushed and stayed there, both clutching the thin paper and each other like it was their lifeline. It was, at this point. Adora was leaning in further, further, without ever realizing, gaze caught on Catra's, and this time Catra was the one to chase the vapor trailing from her lips, greedy for anything to soothe her empty soul.

Except she moved a little too abruptly and their mouths met instead.

Adora threw herself into the unexpected yet long-awaited kiss with immediate abandon, letting the joint fall from her fingers to the table so she could bury them in Catra's hair instead. Catra's hands came up and caught her biceps to pull her fully onto her lap, too buzzed to fear the heat that _burned_ her wherever they touched. Their lips were sloppy and tasted like leaf and tears as they pressed together, but Catra was too intent on getting hooked on Adora to care, because maybe _this_ was an addiction that wouldn’t destroy her.

“Adora,” she groaned into their first true kiss, and the fact that she was one of only a few in the _world_ who knew that name made it mean _that_ much more, and Adora shuddered _hard_ against her and whimpered into her mouth and—

“I need you.” It slipped out against Adora's lips before Catra could think, and at first she was gripped by panic, but when Adora let her hands slide down to her shoulders and began kneading the tension away, carefully but firmly, she let her fear dissipate for once. She let out a sigh of relief and wrapped her arms tight around her companion's waist in a gesture of gratitude, because she couldn’t find the _words_ to; all she could think was _I need you, I need you—_ “I _need_ you, Adora,” she said again, her voice rough in her throat and coming out desperate, and Adora seemed to understand. She shifted her hands again to caress the sides of Catra's neck, and where normally Catra would have bristled at that, Adora's touch made her feel nothing but safe.

The girl sat up straighter on her lap so she could reach Catra's forehead with her lips, planting a slow, deliberate kiss right on the spot Amon had touched her with his icy, horrible hands, replacing the feeling with familiar warmth. She let her lips drag away slowly, lingering on the gesture, and then bent her head to press another kiss to Catra's collarbone where his other hand had lain, and Catra could barely contain the sob that worked its way up her own throat.

“Adora,” she choked out, so touched by the gesture and so completely consumed with—with _feeling_ for this girl that she could come up with nothing else.

As if in answer, Adora tilted her head and kissed her right below the ear where the skin was sensitive, and Catra's fingers tightened on the back of her tunic, desperate to be closer.

She was caught off guard when Adora reached around to her hand and pulled it away, settling it instead on the front of her shirt where the clasps held it fast. They broke apart just enough for Adora to give her a long, steady, _heated_ look with those clouded sky eyes, reaching up to brush Catra's cheek tenderly with her thumb, before both of their gazes fell to each other’s lips and they came back together again. 

Catra took the hint and fumbled with the clasps of Adora's tunic until it fell open in the front, baring the hard-earned muscles of her abdomen. She couldn’t resist glancing down to take in the sight. She’d seen it before; touched it when Adora's wounds needed tending, but she hadn’t ever gotten to admire it like _this._ Her chest tightened as she realized that right now it was _hers_ and hers alone to experience—that Adora was trusting her entirely in a way she’d never done before. Catra was caught up in that knowledge and the fog of má over her mind and her hands slid greedily of their own accord beneath the fabric to caress that chiseled waist—

—only for Adora to flinch at her touch.

Before Catra had time to panic, Adora broke off and whispered through swollen lips, “Your hands—”

 _Are cold._ Catra didn’t need her to finish. “I know,” she rasped, letting them fall from around Adora so she needn’t be subject to her now-icy touch, but—the other girl caught them in her own and pressed them back to her skin, this time still jolting slightly but leaning into her palms.

Fresh tears were welling up in those peerless eyes. “I’m sorry,” she breathed. “I’m sorry. I—”

Catra stopped her with a desperate kiss. 

“It’s not your fault,” she mumbled into her lips, and she met every further apology with the same phrase, the two repeating the useless condolences to each other like a mantra.

Until Adora's changed, and suddenly she wasn’t groaning “I’m sorry,” into Catra's kisses, but “I love you.”

Catra couldn’t say it back; the words choked her, as much as she wanted to lay them at Adora's feet. As the push and pull of their lips continued to escalate in heat and intensity, she could think of nothing to do except push Adora down on the couch, climb on top of her and let her actions speak for her.

…

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> so I don't write smut but [insert implied sexual content where Adora is ridiculously tender and Catra learns to be vulnerable etc.]


	13. Chapter 13

Catra operated under the assumption that she had lost her job at the power plant. She couldn’t bend anymore, after all, and she didn’t see any point in showing up to face Weaver one last time. The wicked woman would probably laugh in her face for her misfortune and then proceed to beat her again just for the hell of it.

Adora returned to the Underground nightly as soon as she was back in fighting shape (the crowd’s love for their precious Shira apparently outweighed their hate for her companion), and her winnings went a long way in making sure she kept her residence in Razz’s guest room, where Catra now lived with her. She didn’t lose anymore. Ever.

Stonefist never showed his face there again. A smart decision on his part, but a disappointing lack of closure for Catra and Adora. Either one of them would have been happy to cave his fucking head in if he’d tried.

Razz offered Catra a job, and Catra had little choice but to accept, since she did _not_ intend to continue living off of Adora like a leech.

Their new way of life was all right. It couldn’t be called happy, exactly, when Catra was stuck in such a deep fog of grief and anger that she could barely focus, or when Adora came home every night with her knuckles bleeding and told Catra it was fine; it was just how she coped. But it was monotonous, and that meant it was relatively safe, and safety was a luxury they hadn’t often gotten to enjoy.

And they had each other, which was the best part. Even though they operated on different schedules, which meant they rarely had free time to sit down and talk, the small moments they caught in between were like healing salve on their respective wounds. Often they simply basked in each other’s company, sharing tender touches and looks that were so new to them both but felt like coming home. They figured they were _together_ now, in many ways, and though it went unspoken it was as clear as day. It was better this way. They were better together. They got better together, slowly.

And the routine and the coping and the togetherness and the healing all worked well, for a while.

Then one night Adora came home early.

She came bursting through Loo-Kee’s front door a little breathless, her face pale, and Catra couldn’t tell on her first glance whether she looked more excited or panicked. She lowered the stack of empty bowls she’d been hauling to the kitchen in favor of catching her companion midstride.

“Adora?” she questioned, more than a little concerned when Adora's eyes landed on her and they shined gray. “What is it? Why are you back so soon?”

Adora cracked her battered knuckles absently. “Can I talk to you upstairs?”

That phrase made Catra's stomach plummet into her toes and every foul deed she’d ever done began running through her mind as she tried to guess which one Adora had found out. But still she nodded shortly and followed the taller girl through the doorway and up to their living space, trying to quiet her trembling hands.

At the top of the stairs, Adora pulled the curtain shut behind her and as soon as they were alone she blurted softly, tightly, “The Underground is gone.”

“What?” Catra had heard her perfectly well, but she was too stunned to wrap her head around the news. Her relief that it wasn’t about her was overshadowed by dread of a new sort. “Why? How?”

“The Avatar defeated Amon. The Equalists scattered. Everyone at the Underground was—it was basically one big Equalist sympathizers rally. Now they’re all too scared to show up.”

“What will you do now?” Catra asked, feeling panic up flutter in her throat for the millionth time in her life and trying not to let it seep into her voice. If Adora was out of an income, they would be living only on Catra's earnings from Loo-Kee. That wasn’t enough to feed them both, much less keep paying their rent. Would she have to find another job? Would Razz be willing to support them both?

Adora sensed her distress. She took a step back from Catra, giving her space, and reached to take her hands. Her touch was warm and helped to steady her wild thoughts. “I have an idea about that,” she assured soothingly, “but first, there’s something else you should know.”

Catra's system couldn’t take many more shocks tonight. She swallowed and nodded and waited for the news with her heartbeat thrumming in her ears.

“The Avatar,” Adora began, running her thumbs along Catra's knuckles to ground her. “She’s found out a way to heal people from Amon.”

Catra couldn’t breathe. “You mean—?”

Adora nodded, chancing a smile paired with earnest eyes. “Your bending,” she affirmed. “She can give it back.”

Catra's knees felt weak and her body felt too hot and too cold at the same time and she didn’t know why because she was _thrilled,_ just—it was so overwhelming, because she’d grappled with and struggled through and tried to come to terms with her new reality because the possibility of ever regaining her bending was _impossible_ and—

“Catra!”

She didn’t realize her vision had gone spotty and she’d started to sway until Adora's hands grabbed her around the waist. She gripped the taller girl’s biceps and blinked rapidly. “Sorry,” she mumbled, “I—”

“No, _I’m_ sorry. I should have told you to sit down first,” Adora laughed a little too breathily, guiding Catra to the chair by the window and then kneeling in front of her. Her hands relocated themselves to the brunette’s knees. “So do you want to go see her?”

“Obviously!” Catra still felt like she was buzzing all over, but it was in a good way for once. A rare smile was spreading over her face. Her hands shook as she laid them over the other girl’s.

Adora laughed and her eyes sparkled beautifully. “I thought so. But, um…” Those lovely irises dropped and Catra could see her chewing at the inside of her cheek.

“What?” she pressed. Was there a catch? Of course there would be. She leaned in to await Adora's answer, but at the same time she was shrinking into herself, preparing for disappointment.

Adora met her eyes again. “She’s at the Southern Water Tribe. It would be a journey.”

Catra wasn’t immediately sure how she felt about that. She picked at a scab on her knuckles. “How do you know?”

“The police chief just got back from there. She did a press conference. She was the first one the Avatar healed.” Adora pulled Catra's hand away from making the scab bleed.

“How would we get there?”

Adora shrugged lightly. “Train, then boat, I guess. Unless you know any airbenders who can just pop us over there.”

Catra laughed in the back of her throat. “I wish.” She turned her hand over to run her fingers along Adora's jaw affectionately. “You don’t have any secret airbending powers, do you, babe?”

Adora's blush was instant, but she managed a laugh as well. “Not as far as I know.” Then she sobered, gazing up at Catra with a steady intensity. The look made Catra's chest feel tight and full at the same time. “If you want to make the trip, I’ll come with you. I’ll stay by your side.”

And of _course_ Catra wanted that; of _course_ that sounded like the best idea that’d ever met her ears, but— “Adora, how will we pay for it?”

“We have enough for the trip there.”

Adora's words sank in slowly. The way she was working her jaw again was proof enough that something was wrong. “And the way back?” Catra prompted hesitantly.

Adora held her eyes, but didn’t say anything.

Catra let out her breath explosively. “Adora, I can’t ask you to do that. You’ve already—”

“I have a way.”

Catra stopped. The way she’d said that did not make her feel better about this at all. She narrowed her eyes to study her partner’s face, lingering on the shadows making her irises look gray. Adora slid her gaze away. “Adora, what is it?” Catra asked softly, bringing her fingers under the other girl’s chin again to coax her head back up. “If it’s something bad, I don’t want you to do it. I’m not worth that.”

“You _are_.” Adora's conviction was startling, and her hand came up to squeeze Catra's tightly. Then her grip faltered. “It’s…about my village. And I’ll do it. I’d do anything for you.”

 _Her village._ The place she couldn’t go back to. The place that made her so upset to talk about. Catra couldn’t ask that of her. “No. Adora, don’t—”

“We’re going to get your bending back,” Adora interrupted her firmly. “I just need time to…prepare.”

Catra still had no idea what that meant, and not knowing was gnawing a hole in her gut almost as painful as the place her bending used to be. But she trusted Adora, and if she was dead set on going through with whatever it was about her village that she dreaded so much, Catra was willing to give her all the time she needed to prepare. Especially if it was in an effort to help _her._ She wished Adora wouldn’t sacrifice so much for her.

But, “Okay,” she conceded on a sigh. She saw the way Adora's shoulders loosened slightly and wondered if it was a good or bad sign. She leaned forward to let her brow come to rest against the other girl’s. “Thank you. I—” She knew exactly what she wanted to say, but it still stuck in her throat. “—I appreciate you.”

A breath of a sigh left Adora this time, and Catra tried not to let herself think it was disappointment.

“It’s going to be okay,” the sun-haired girl murmured into the narrow space between them. “I’ll make sure of it.”

And for once Catra believed it.

…

With the Underground disbanded, Adora didn’t have anywhere to go but the back corner of Loo-Kee for the night. It was funny, almost, how they had switched places so entirely from the day they first met. Then, Catra had been the one down on her luck, slouched over a bottle of alcohol in the back corner, watching Adora go about her waitressing. Now Adora was the one sitting in that lonely booth and Catra was under Razz’s supervision, but it didn’t altogether feel so simple. Then, they had been strangers hovering in each other’s orbit, held back by anger and insecurity. Now, they were close enough to virtually prove Razz’s prediction a true prophecy, and despite their current predicament Catra wouldn’t want it any other way.

As soon as she got off the clock, she joined her sun-haired warrior in the corner.

“Hey,” she greeted, sliding into the seat beside her. “How’s the plan coming?”

Adora had been busy plotting them a path to the Southern Water Tribe in her free time (which was most of it, now) and calculating all the expenses that would come with it. She had a map laid out on the table in front of her, its surface littered with black markings she’d drawn that Catra couldn’t make out at first glance. Catra leaned in to look at it anyway, if only to let her shoulder press against Adora's.

Those blue-gray eyes flickered up briefly to acknowledge her before returning to pore over the map. “Our best option is to hop on a train at Central City Station and head south,” she explained, pointing. “There are trains running between all of the major Earth Kingdom cities. It’s two stops to my village, and two more stops until we hit the coast. After that we’ll have to find a ship heading south to the Water Tribe.” 

“Do ships even carry passengers to and from the South Pole?” Catra questioned. She was familiar with Republic City’s trains, but she wasn’t sure how travel operated in other parts of the world.

Adora grimaced. “Generally, I don’t think so. It’s mostly cargo ships. We may have to exchange work for passage on one of them.”

“And the cost?”

Adora's jaw tightened and she wouldn’t raise her eyes from the map. There was a long pause, and Catra wondered with a touch of panic how bad it could possibly be. She reached out to slide the paper toward her and get a better look at the figures Adora had drawn, but the other girl covered them with her hand.

“Adora.”

“Don’t,” Adora pleaded. She finally looked up and pinned Catra with the earnesty in those eyes. “We’ll be able to manage it if my mentor helps us.”

“And if she doesn’t?” Catra asked sharply, pushing the obscuring hand away. They had discussed this more times since Adora had first suggested it, and the argument was always the same. Adora thought it was okay to risk everything she had for this trip—for Catra—and Catra was flattered, but she was not having it. She ran her gaze over the numbers Adora had written out. Now that she looked closely she was able to make sense of them, and she didn’t like what she found. She'd known it would be bad, but she hadn't thought it would be _this_ bad. She looked back up glaring. “Will we be able to support ourselves after this? Is my bending worth our food? Our home? Our lives?” 

Adora opened her mouth to argue and Catra could see her eyes hardening; her cheeks reddening; her face taking on that look that she got when she decided to be stubborn.

She never got the chance.

“So you are finally going to do it, hmm?” piped up a voice from just beside their table, and both of them jumped and whipped their heads around. Neither had noticed Razz approach, but there she stood, looming (as much as a four-foot-tall woman could loom) over them with her sharp dark eyes and her inexplicable wisdom. She was looking at Adora.

Catra turned to do the same. “What is she talking about?” she asked suspiciously; nervously.

“What are you talking about?” Adora repeated, directing the question at Razz. Catra could see her knuckles go white on the edge of the table.

The old woman lifted her eyebrows and laughed. “Don’t be silly, Shira!”

At those words, Adora went absolutely stonefaced.

Catra noticed the change and bristled. She’d never seen Adora look like that before except when—except when she— _When she found out I stole from her,_ Catra thought, shrinking a little inside. “What?” she demanded as panic licked up her throat. Adora didn’t move. Her heart beat faster. Why did Razz know Adora’s underground stage name? Why was Adora so upset about it? What did this mean? “Adora, what is it? What’s wrong?”

Razz clucked her tongue. “Your story is not over yet,” she said sagely to the stiff-shouldered girl beside her, “but don’t worry. I think you’ll find that things have never really been what they seem.”

That did not seem to comfort Adora. She remained frighteningly pale, tense, trembling and staring into space.

It was scaring Catra. “Adora!” she cried again. At the lack of response, she instead turned to Razz and showed her teeth viciously, half-rising from the table, fully prepared to knock this old woman on her ass if it meant protecting Adora. “What are you talking about? Why is she so freaked out?”

Razz chuckled airily again, showing absolutely no concern for the fire burning in Catra's eyes. “You need not worry, Māo Meili. She is strong with you by her side.”

Those words hit her like a punch to the gut and she braced her fists on the table. “What? Who is Māo Meili? What is Adora supposed to do?” she demanded.

“Why don’t you ask her?”

Catra whipped her head around to look at her companion, and then back at Razz—except, Razz was no longer there. She had left them hanging in favor of bustling away behind the counter, whistling something that sounded vaguely familiar, and there was _no_ way she should have been able to move that fast. Catra felt her frustration boil over and mix with the confusion already smothering her thoughts, and she wanted to race over there and throttle the old woman, but—

Adora's hand closed over her own and relaxed the fist that had been digging her nails into her palm.

Catra looked down and felt her eyes widen guiltily. She hadn’t even realized she was hurting herself. Her emotions had gotten too high again, and she’d thought that she was getting _better_ at this, but here she was losing control and Adora was right there to see it and—

“Catra.”

She snapped out of her spiral, blinking up to meet Adora's eyes.

“It’s okay. I’m okay.” Adora tugged on her clenched hand, coaxing her back into her seat. And then she kept holding it, and Razz’s words _she is strong with you by her side_ bounced around Catra's head violently, and she flipped her palm over to lace their fingers together.

“What was she talking about?” she asked, still tense but forcing her voice hushed.

Adora's throat jumped on a dry swallow. She was staring across the room at nothing, her eyes looking gray. “The same thing I was.” Her grip was tight on Catra's hand, too. Using it to ground herself.

Suddenly Catra wasn’t sure she wanted to know anymore.

“There’s something you need to know,” Adora managed after a long silence, “about me.”

Catra tried desperately to split the crushing tension. “Please don’t tell me you’re into men.”

“I’m—trying to be serious here!” Adora blurted, finally looking over at Catra to glare. Then she turned away again, brows furrowing in frustration. “I—I never thought I’d have to deal with this again.”

“Deal with what, Adora?” Catra tried not to sound like she was begging, but she was honestly about to crack under this stupid weight of dreadful anticipation.

“The place I grew up,” Adora began abruptly, and her voice was unexpectedly on the verge of tears. Her grip on Catra was a stranglehold. “The thing I never wanted to talk about.”

Catra didn’t know whether to give her space or pull her into her arms, so she hovered awkwardly, muscles taut, trying to ignore the pain in her hand.

“The people there. They thought I was—” she fumbled for the words, shook her head, shrugged. Catra ran her thumb over the side of her hand, gently urging. “They thought I was something I’m not,” she finally got out like it had taken all her energy, even though Catra knew no more than before.

“What did they think?” she asked before Adora lost her voice again.

Adora sighed and her shoulders sank. Catra could see a wall coming down and wished she knew how to react to it. She scooted closer to Adora on the seat, pressing their legs together. Adora seemed to realize she was turning Catra's fingers purple and relaxed her grip.

“There was a prophecy,” she responded, gazing down at the face of the table defeatedly. “There was a legend that talked about a past hero who would be reincarnated to save the village. They thought the reincarnation was me.”

“Like the Avatar?”

Adora shook her head slightly. “Not a cycle. Just one.”

“What made them think it’s you?”

Adora gestured with her free hand to her shining golden hair, disgusted. “Spirit-marked. Who else would it be?”

Catra cast around for an explanation. “Someone else. Anyone else. Maybe this isn’t a spirit mark. Maybe you just got, I don’t know, bad blood.”

Adora raised her eyes and they were so dully, wearily skeptical that it made Catra's voice die in her throat.

“It’s me, Catra. Even Razz knows it.”

“But how?”

Adora shrugged like she didn’t care anymore. “How does she know anything? All that matters is that she’s right.”

Catra floundered, not knowing how to console her. Not knowing how to drag her out of this concerning haze of despondency, because it wasn’t usually _her_ who had to do it. Suddenly she was that much more grateful for all the times Adora had done so for her. She tried to remember what had worked and what hadn’t. The truth was, she didn’t _know_ enough about this bullshit to provide any real comfort to Adora.

“What’s…” She hesitated, not wanting to stray too far onto a tender topic, but at the same time, she sort of had to if Adora was about to take this leap for her. “What’s the prophecy?”

Adora's deadened eyes tracked over her face impassively. “Want me to sum it up or tell it to you verbatim? Because I’ve heard it enough times to recite it in my sleep,” she mumbled out.

Catra chewed her lip. “I guess it’s up to you.”

“All right, then,” Adora conceded with a long, tired sigh. “It’s probably better if you know all of it. Just…so you know what you’re getting into.”

Catra turned on the seat to face her, taking both her hands in her own. “I’m listening,” she said, because she could at least give Adora that.

The spirit-marked girl squeezed her hands gratefully, took a deep breath, and let it out shakily. When she spoke, her voice had taken on a distant, almost mechanical quality. “‘In the old days, when the world was bleak and burning and the Avatar was nowhere to be found, the people of our village were forced into service by Fire Nation colonists; made to mine the rich metals that lay beneath their mountain. The villagers warned them that the mountain was sacred ground, but the invaders’ greed blinded them to the consequences until it was too late. Their digging woke a spirit beneath the surface.

The spirit—a huge, shadowy cat with fangs large enough to skewer a man—woke angry, and it punished our violation of its home by stealing, killing, and destroying everything we loved. It attacked every night without cease, seemingly impossible to appease by any mortal means, and with the Avatar missing from the world, our people had little hope of stopping it.

But one day, a young girl from the village took matters into her own hands. She went down into the depths of the mountain, to the pit where the mines had pierced the spirit’s home. She spent three days there alone, pleading with any power that would answer for a clue as to how to save our village.

It was only after three days spent in darkness and fasting that the spirits took pity on her and responded. A portal opened before her and deposited a single object into her desperate hands: a glowing blue sword. As soon as she touched it, her raven hair was stained the color of the sun—the mark of the spirits. The girl left the depths of the mountain with her prize and returned to the village to stand guard at the gates, her Sword of Protection in hand.

That night, just like every night before it, the cat spirit returned to take its toll on the helpless village—only, this time it was not so helpless. The girl, Shira, stood courageously before the gates, hair and sword shining like the sun, and challenged her for the safety of her village.”

 _Shira,_ realized Catra with a jolt. _Shira the warrior goddess._ But why would Adora choose to sport that title if Shira’s story seemed to cause her so much pain?

All Catra could do was keep listening. 

Adora continued on: “The cat spirit was enraged. It pounced, and Shira met it head-on. Their battle lasted for three days, tooth and claw against sword and will, and though Shira was soon exhausted from the struggle, she was bolstered by the knowledge that her village remained safe for as long as she fought.

The cat spirit, too, found its strength slowly waning, and after three days of deadly combat, Shira finally thrust the Sword of Protection into its breast.

To her great shock, the blow did not send the spirit to its death, but instead caused a flash of light that, once faded, revealed a woman in its place. She was beautiful and peaceful; her head was crowned with feline ears and a graceful tail curled behind her. Shira in her surprise dropped her sword, and where it fell, a spirit portal opened and disguised the pair from view. When the air cleared, they were gone.

The cat spirit did not return to bring the village grief again, but nor was Shira ever seen again. All the evidence that remained of their struggle was the fallen Sword of Protection, dull in the absence of Shira’s touch, and a drop of the cat spirit’s blood.

It is said that the two women are not dead, but locked in a perpetual battle in the spirit world, and one day they will return in a new form to end their confrontation and decide the fate of our village once and for all.’

It was also said that the new Shira would be spirit-marked just like the first one. When she touches the Sword of Protection, it will come to life again under her touch.”

Now it made sense. Adora was thought to be the Shira of legend. She’d obviously rejected that prophetic responsibility, but in a twisted sort of coping method, she’d carried it in a different way. A way she could manage. A way she could win.

Adora had created a Shira whose destiny she _could_ fulfill.

Catra could suddenly see parts of Adora that she had never even supposed existed, and she felt _honored._ “And the cat?” she wondered.

Adora shrugged. “I don’t know. All the times I heard it when I was a kid, they left out that last part. So I wouldn’t get scared off, probably.” She took her hands back from Catra to twist her fingers together anxiously. “That’s exactly what happened when they finally told me. I got out of there as soon as I could. I don’t want to be some legendary hero. I don’t want to fight any magic spirit women.” Her voice was strangling, like she was about to cry or fly into a rage or both.

Catra said gently, “I doubt anybody really does. You’re not a bad person for that.”

“But I am!” Adora blurted, jerking her head up to fix Catra with glistening eyes. “I grew up with all those people, got to know them like the family I never had, and then when they started _expecting_ things from me, I ran away.”

Catra might have been taken aback by her sudden vehemence, but something was nagging at her mind. “I thought your father was the reason you left your village,” she said carefully.

Adora squeezed her eyes shut like she’d been struck. “I know.” Her voice was cracking. “He—he was, the first time. He really is a terrible man. He really was going to kill me in Ba Sing Se. But it wasn’t because of him that I left that village.” She clenched her fists and pressed them to her eyes, hiding her face from Catra's view. Her next words were almost too low to hear. “That was just because I was a coward.”

Catra took a long moment to mull that over, catch her breath and let Adora do the same.

So Adora had lied to her.

She wasn’t angry, necessarily, since she herself had done much worse. She was just a little caught off guard; a little disappointed that Adora hadn’t trusted her as completely as she’d once thought. At the same time, that fact was a relief. She wasn’t as much a weak spot to this girl as she’d feared.

But then, Adora had come clean to her now. She had trusted her with the truth. There weren't any walls left between them now, and it was both frightening and freeing.

And still the question remained: what to _do_ about it?

All she could do was try to treat Adora's heart as gently at Adora had hers.

“You know,” she began, contemplatively, as something dawned on her. Adora's hands came away from her eyes to reveal the moistness of unshed tears and Catra continued with more certainty, aching to soothe Adora's pain, “Avatar Aang did the same thing, and it turned out to be arranged by fate. If he hadn’t run away, he would have been killed with the rest of the Air Nomads and never saved the world.” Catra reached out carefully and brushed her thumb down the other girl’s cheek. “Things happen for a reason, Adora.”

Adora swallowed down her tears. “I thought you didn’t believe in fate,” she said softly.

Catra adjusted her hand on her face, cupping her beneath the ear firmly, and looked her straight in the eyes. Her heart was racing and her throat was threatening to tighten but she knew she needed to say what she was thinking. So she licked her lips; felt her cheeks heat as Adora's gaze flicked to them, and whispered, “That was before I met you.”

A short, shaky exhale left Adora's lips like she’d taken a hit to the gut. Her eyes turned raw; needy; _hot_ as they held Catra's. Her hand came up and covered Catra's and she turned her head slightly to place a kiss on her wrist, making her shiver. They stayed like that for a long, slow moment, as if weighed down by the simmering tension between them. Catra didn’t dare breathe.

And then Adora seemed to break suddenly free and surged forward to land a second kiss right on her mouth.

It was hard and fast and full of tears finally spilled and the taste of their dinner, but still the most addicting thing Catra had ever experienced. As Adora broke away with a gasp Catra couldn’t help but follow her and steal a second, slower, deeper one. She hadn’t quite gotten used to the heavenly privilege of having Adora's lips on her own.

As they parted a second time a little moan left Adora's throat and Catra had to hold herself back from initiating a very inappropriate scene in the middle of Loo-Kee’s dining room. Instead she let her breath out in a sigh, let her hand run from Adora's face down to her hand, and asked hoarsely, “So we’re going back to your village?”

Adora, eyes still closed, seemed to struggle with herself for a moment. Then, “Yeah,” she affirmed on a weary exhale. Her lips were red from Catra's touch. She opened her eyes and caught Catra staring, and her ears turned a similar shade. “My mentor still lives there. She can fund our trip. But I have a feeling she won’t help me until I help the village.”

“You can do it,” Catra assured her. Now that she knew the whole story, she understood that this trip was even more important than she’d first thought. They had to go, for Adora as much as for herself. She leaned in again and placed a small kiss on the other girl’s cheek. “ _We_ can do it.”

“Yeah,” repeated Adora, something heavy in her voice. Catra could feel the heat coming off her skin. Before she could pull back all the way, Adora caught her with a finger beneath her chin and leaned in to narrow the distance between their lonely lips again. Catra let her eyes drift closed, breath catching and lips parted in anticipation of that lovely contact, and—

“So it’s decided, then!” Razz’s unexpected voice scared the shit out of both of them.

Catra whipped her head up and felt her face flame as she realized that the old woman was hovering right beside their table again, and her heart sank in disappointment as Adora leaned quickly away from her without ever touching. 

There shouldn’t have been any way Razz had overheard their conversation. Unless—

Catra wasn’t sure she wanted to know, but she felt the need to ask, “How long have you been standing there?”

Razz just grinned.

... 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> so from here on out the story is basically one big pacing problem, and I have an explanation for this but not an excuse. I had half or more of the fic written before I actually Figured Out what Adora's backstory was going to be and then realized oh haha I need to address that, and I ended up just tacking it on at the end as a huge info dump. I hope it doesn't detract from the experience at all and the ending is still relatively satisfactory, but I just wanted to share that yes, I know I did a bad and I'm sorry


	14. Chapter 14

Catra had never been on a train before.

Central City Station was a loud, dirty, crowded stewpot of anxiety, and Adora and Catra had to hold hands tightly to keep from losing each other as they braved the crowd. A woman in an official-looking hat sold them their train tickets at a booth at the perimeter of the room. Catra tried to keep herself from lunging after their yuan in a wild last effort to spare Adora the tribulation she knew this trip would hold, but they had already come this far, so she held her tongue and watched as their savings disappeared in an instant into a collection behind the counter.

Tickets in hand, they shouldered through the crowd side-by-side to the steam engine taking passengers to the south. It was difficult to tell where the throng ended and the official line for the train began, but the two girls sidled in according to their best guess.

“No going back now, huh?” Adora spoke, almost to herself, over the hiss of the idling train and the clamor of the citizens passing to and fro around them. Her eyes were set on the front of the train, where deep gray smoke was obscuring the air above the smokestack. It looked a lot like their future to Catra; clouded, unknown, but she put on an optimistic half-smile for her partner.

“We’ll be all right,” she replied as she clasped their hands together again. 

Adora pulled her gaze away from the machine that would carry them into that unknown future and instead met Catra’s eyes. She gave a tight smile to match the smaller girl’s. “Yeah.” She squeezed Catra’s hand tighter in hers. “We will.” _Together_ was the familiar yet unspoken end to her sentence, and it warmed Catra’s heart as it had every time before.

But the cold chill of anxiety wasn’t melted away completely. They were nearing the front of the line, and Catra could feel her palm going clammy in Adora’s as reality closed its unforgiving fingers around her throat. _We’ll be all right. We’ll be all right. Stronger together,_ she repeated to herself to keep a handle on her nerves. This was for the best. This would be a good change for both of them.

And yet, Catra was still afraid to leave behind everything she had ever known. She would not miss Republic City, no, nor the life she had scraped together here. But she would miss the familiarity of it; the knowing what to expect behind every corner; the comfort of a monotonous existence. She would miss belonging, even if the only place she’d ever belonged was the moldy basement below an empty bar.

She let out her breath in a shuddering sigh as she realized, _There really is no going back now._ She turned her head to peer out at the city skyline visible through the tall arches of the station’s façade.

“Are you okay?” Adora’s voice close to her ear made her jump.

And—

If Catra had a yuan for every time one of them had asked the other that in the past few days, she would be rich enough to guarantee them a return trip. Of course, that didn’t mean she was tired of hearing it. She would never get tired of it when it meant so much for someone to care.

So she looked up at her partner and flashed another, more genuine (if more nervous) smile. “Never better, princess,” she responded, and in a way, it was true. “You?”

Adora only nodded, following her gaze to absorb the sight of the distant city as well. Catra wondered if it was easier for her, not having lived here for as long. But the way her eyes were shining gray, she had to doubt it.

Their turn came to board the train. They passed their tickets to the conductor at the door, who punched them with a handheld contraption and then passed them back. The paper felt heavier in Catra’s hand as she accepted it again, even though she knew nothing had changed. She took a deep breath and took one more glance at the skyline of her comfortable hell before stepping onto the train ahead of Adora.

It was much quieter inside than it was on the platform, Catra thought at first. As she climbed the steps fully into the cabin interior, though, she realized that this was only partially true. The rumble of the idling engine and the odd creak of the machine’s weight bearing down on the tracks smothered the sound of the crowd, but were comparably loud.

Catra reached the main aisle and began walking toward the back of the train, taking in the metal arches of the many windows and the worn yet tasteful red upholstery of the front-facing seats packed with people. The floors, too, were carpeted with red. She gripped her toes into the velvety surface and ran her palms along the seat cushions as she passed, simply feeling; absorbing this new environment.

But she still had a line of passengers trying to board behind her, so when Adora gently guided her toward an empty seat with a hand on her lower back, she reluctantly cut her tour short.

The view out the window quickly consoled her, though, for it was just as novel as being inside this fancy moving machine. She had a full view of the front of the station, including the statue of Fire Lord Zuko and the city beyond. The late morning sun was shining gold against the metal and glass façade, turning it molten.

“I should have stowed away on one of these a long time ago. The view is better,” she murmured close to the glass, hearing her own voice bounced oddly back to her ears. 

“What?” asked Adora, and Catra wasn’t sure if it was out of alarm or if she simply hadn’t heard. Instead of answering, Catra reached over and twined hands with the other girl’s for the hundredth time today, still loving the feeling of Adora’s fingers secure between hers.

She wasn’t sure how long she let herself get caught up in the view, but she was startled out of her reverie as the cabin doors closed with a solid _slam_ and the conductor took up his post on the inside. They were about to be off, and Republic City was about to be nothing but a memory in her wake.

She returned her gaze to the window and tried to solidify the image of the skyline in her mind. It was the most beautiful thing about the whole city, besides Adora. If she only remembered one thing about this place, she wanted it to be that.

The glass by her face began to vibrate as the engine rumbled louder and the brakes hissed in release. It took her a moment to realize that as the noise grew, her view was beginning to slowly shift, crawling toward the rear of the cabin. The train was moving!

“Look!” she cried as the platform began to pass them by, almost imperceptibly at first and then with increasing speed. Her heart rate was climbing along with it, and she couldn’t tell whether it was from excitement or fear. Regardless, she felt better when Adora planted a kiss on her temple and joined her in watching their journey begin. 

The conductor was beginning some kind of safety speech at the front of their car, but the crescendoing chug of the moving train overpowered his voice. Catra was more intent anyway on gazing out at the city as they left the shelter of the station and started south. She felt as if she were hovering out of her body, like she’d just taken a hit of má, but something about the feeling was purer this time. Hopeful instead of hopeless.

She and Adora stared out the window as Republic City passed them by and grew smaller and smaller behind until it was just a hazy silhouette on the horizon. 

Only then did Catra tear her eyes away and face front, realizing with a painful jolt that she was now truly separated from everything she’d ever known.

She was in Adora’s world, now.

… 

Catra spent most of their trip watching the Earth Kingdom landscape flash by her window. It was all unfamiliar to her: vast expanses of dry, cracked earth, sometimes sandy, interrupted at intervals by green hills and jagged rock formations. It was at once thrilling and profoundly pitiful that she was getting to see more of the world in a single afternoon than she had in her entire lifetime. She was glad she’d gotten the window seat. She felt a little bad for depriving Adora of the view, but she figured the other girl had seen enough of the Earth Kingdom already.

In fact, when Catra finally took a break from gazing out at this new world, she found Adora watching _her_ rather than the landscape. She felt a little pang of excitement in her chest. “Beautiful, isn’t it?” she asked, the first she’d spoken in hours, still more comfortable with deflecting than she was with laying bare her feelings.

“Yeah. It is,” agreed Adora, eyes heavy lidded and still on her, and Catra got the feeling they were not talking about the same thing.

She cleared her throat and tried to ignore the nervous prickle on the back of her neck. “You said it’s two stops to your village, right?” she asked. She had already checked the map multiple times during their trip, but she kept worrying that they would somehow miss their stop and get lost in the middle of the desert forever.

Adora hummed an affirmative and patted her duffel bag laid across her knees, which she had recovered from the Underground after Catra’s…incident. She had removed the athletic supplies from it and replaced them with food, extra clothes, and funds for their journey (though it still smelled like the gym), and Catra knew that Adora’s map lay right on top for easy access. “The next one will be ours.”

“How long will it be until then?”

Adora shrugged one shoulder. “A few hours. I expect we’ll be there by nightfall.” She looked over at Catra, jaw tense but eyes soft. “Did you want to rest?”

At the word _rest,_ all of Catra’s stress and exhaustion seemed to land on her shoulders with new weight. She really could use a rest; they both could. But they could do that once they straightened out the situation at Adora’s village and made it to the Water Tribe. Until then, Catra couldn’t see either of them getting a very thorough night’s sleep with all the pressure riding on them. So, “And miss the view? No thanks, princess,” she replied cheekily. Then she bit her lip, taking in the shadows behind Adora’s eyes as well as beneath them. “Do you?”

Adora let out a weary sigh that sounded just the way Catra felt. “I don’t think I could if I tried,” she admitted, crossing her arms to hug herself and slouching in her seat. “The thought of my home village is…getting to me.”

Catra could think of nothing to say that wouldn’t sound empty and lame. She never could; Adora was the eloquent one of the two, and that was saying something. She did know how to _act_ , though, and right now that’s what she did, shifting in her seat so her back was to the window and nudging Adora to turn with her. Though the taller girl gave her a curious look, she complied, letting Catra pull her against her front and slide wiry arms around her waist. They drew glances from the other train passengers as they snuggled up right in front of everyone, but that was less important than comforting Adora right now.

The sun-haired girl let her head rest back against the crook of her partner’s neck and sighed into her skin. “Thanks, Catra.”

Catra suppressed a shiver and hummed a quiet acknowledgement. “I’m shit with words, but I’m here,” she murmured close to the other girl’s ear.

Adora tilted her chin up and her eyes caught the afternoon light and looked bluer, now. “I know,” she said, lips curling in a teasing smile. She reached to cover the hands around her torso with her own and relaxed, letting her eyes slip closed. Then, again, softer: “I know.”

Catra inhaled a deep breath of Adora’s comforting scent and rested her cheek against that golden hair, enjoying the warmth and the privilege of having Adora in her arms. Leaned up against each other like this, they each found their anxiety fading into the background to be replaced by temporary comfort, and the rhythmic rumble of the train lulled them into a doze.

Even with the risk of the unknown pressing closer and closer with each passing moment, they were able to rest, in the end.

… 

The clamor of the train’s second stop thankfully woke them.

Catra came to with a start, her neck bent at an awkward angle and one of her hands dangling off the seat. She was uncomfortably hot for the first time since losing her bending, thanks to Adora's body still slouched against her front. She, too, had been rudely awakened, if her wild flyaways and the confused look in her eyes were anything to judge by. She pushed herself off of Catra's chest with a muffled groan and retrieved her duffel bag from where it had fallen onto the floor.

“This is us,” she said, her throat scratchy. “We’ve got to go.”

With that, she was sliding out of their seat into the aisle, and Catra followed, hands empty because she had no luggage to gather. Their departure from the train was so rushed and Catra was so groggy that it hardly seemed real. She just clung onto her partner’s shirt to avoid losing her in the stream of people also disembarking and squinted into the orange sunlight streaming in the windows from the opposite side as this morning. It was just before nightfall, as Adora had predicted.

They were at the steps when Adora uttered a low, “Oh!” and paused, reaching into the side pocket of her duffel bag and drawing out her old brimless hat. Catra was surprised to see it; Adora hadn’t worn it since her injury. As her partner stuffed it on over her sunny hair, Catra frowned. Adora _really_ didn’t want to be recognized here.

Stepping onto the platform, they were hit with a cool breeze that was refreshing until their eyes began watering from the dust it kicked up. The platform itself was made of wood, but there, too, lay a thick coating of desert dust that gave Catra a nasty dry feeling between her toes. Her first impression was that the Earth Kingdom was more enjoyable when experienced from behind a window.

She narrowed her eyes against the particles in the air and looked around. The establishment around the platform was a mixture of traditional wooden structures and shining industrial innovation, with a handful of Satomobiles tracking up unpaved streets; too big to really be called a village, but too small for a city. “This is it?”

“No,” said Adora, and before Catra could panic that they got off at the wrong stop, she raised her arm and pointed west toward the setting sun. If Catra squinted, she could make out the dark silhouette of squat buildings framed along the hills on the horizon. “That’s it.”

“Oh. I didn’t know we’d have to walk.”

Though she wasn’t complaining, Adora gave her a sideways look and a ghost of a mocking smile. “Who’s the princess now, huh?”

Catra scoffed, but was not in the mood to argue. Her nervousness had fallen back onto her shoulders full force as soon as they exited the train. Everything felt more real now, somehow. When she looked up at Adora, her jaw was set again, and combined with the precaution of the hat Catra knew she was feeling the same. 

Before they could stew too long in their growing anxiety, Catra bumped her partner’s shoulder with her own and nudged, “Come on. I don’t really want to be walking in the dark.”

Adora gave her another glance, and the hesitation in her eyes was obvious.

“We’ve come this far,” pointed out Catra softly in response.

“Yeah.” Adora took a deep breath and let it out in a rush. “You’re right.”

Without another word—before they lost their nerve—she slung her duffel bag over her shoulder and started toward the village on the horizon.

Catra followed, as she always would.

…

They reached the scattering of old bowed buildings just after dark. The village didn’t seem to be laid out in any particular pattern, instead featuring twisting dirt streets that were sometimes flanked by curtained-off homes and sometimes by storefronts and selleries, windows dark for the end of the day. Catra wondered how it could be located so close to a developed town and remain so rustic. Then she wondered if their fixation on traditions like Shira’s prophecy had anything to do with it.

They had stopped at the outskirts of the village spread, and Catra now realized that they had been standing there for more than a casual moment. She looked over at her companion and couldn’t be sure if the pale cast to her face was the moonlight or the trepidation. She ventured out her hand and slipped it into Adora's, carefully so she didn’t startle her. The gesture drew Adora's gaze, and the pain in her expression hit Catra like a punch.

“Hey,” she said, and it came out shakier than she’d intended. “It’s okay. We’re okay.” It sounded hollow, and internally she groaned. This is why she preferred to stick to physical forms of comfort. She squeezed Adora's hand and stepped closer and tried again: “You don’t have to worry about anything tonight. We’ll just find a place to sleep and figure things out in the morning.”

Adora looked at her miserably. “That’ll just give me more time to worry about it,” she said in a small, regretful voice, but she turned toward Catra to take hold of her other hand. “I’m so glad you came with me. I don’t think I could do it without—without—” She broke off and blinked up at the sky to hold back tears that Catra hadn’t noticed before. “I couldn’t do it alone.”

Catra freed her hands to reach up and cup Adora's cheeks, and she didn’t care how odd they must look; two unfamiliar silhouettes embracing at the edge of a random Earth Kingdom village. She tipped the other girl’s head down so she could look her in the eye and whispered fiercely, “Of course I came. We take care of each other, Adora.”

One of those tears spilled over, and Catra brushed it away with her thumb. Adora leaned into her hands. Her eyes were silver in the moonlight as she gazed down at her—her friend? Her companion? Her partner? Her—

“I love you,” said Adora abruptly, although if Catra thought about it, she figured it was not so unexpected.

And though she finally, finally acknowledged within herself that she absolutely felt the same, she could _still_ not put it into words.

So, instead, “Y-you too,” she managed, letting her eyes and her hands fall as disappointment—disappointment in _herself—_ weighed on her chest like lead.

She was closer. But she was still a coward.

Adora let out a soft sigh through her nose and gave Catra a forgiving kiss on her forehead. “Let’s go find my house,” she moved on quickly, not allowing Catra the time to stew in her guilt. With that, she turned, took one more deep breath, and led the way into the dark village with her bag back on her shoulder and Catra close behind.

The wind among the buildings was the loudest noise besides their footsteps as they traversed the unpaved streets. Although the short, wood-and-stone buildings all looked basically the same to Catra, Adora seemed to know exactly where she was going. Catra was glad for it. The deserted landscape was starting to spook her; even though she could see lights on behind the curtains of the residential structures, this place felt empty. As she walked by one such house, something on the outer wall caught her eye: symbols of some kind, made of lines and circles in an unfamiliar pattern, carved into the stone. It was worn enough that it could have predated the family that lived within. On an uncomfortable whim Catra reached out and ran her fingers over it as she passed. She might have imagined it, but the surface seemed to sting her a little bit.

“What are you doing?” Adora's voice, though quiet, made her jump. 

Catra snatched her hand away from the shallow inscription. Instead of answering, she replied with another question: “What are these?”

“Sigils,” said Adora shortly, “from the first Shira’s time. To keep evil spirits away.” She glared at the symbols as if it were their fault she’d been caught up in this place’s stupid ancient prophecy. “They didn’t work.”

That last statement gave Catra a nervous chill. Now that she took another, closer look around the path they walked, she could see the remains of demolished foundations scattered among the newer houses. A testament to the sigils’ failure. Evidence that the stories of Shira and the angry spirit were true.

No wonder Adora didn’t like it here.

Catra kept her mouth shut and her hands to herself for the rest of the walk to Adora's old house.

The building where they stopped was made of chiseled stone like the rest, but this one had slim pillars out front, all of which were positively littered with those haunting sigils. Catra paused as Adora passed between them, feeling nauseous. She chalked it up to her nerves, but for some reason she just couldn’t bring herself to step forward and be surrounded by those creepy old symbols. They might sting her again.

Adora glanced back when she noticed that Catra wasn’t by her side, saw the frightened look on her face, and turned. “Are you all right?”

Catra nodded, feeling stupid and paranoid yet somehow _sure_ that those things bore her ill will. But when Adora extended her hand and Catra took it, her fear drained away at the rush of warmth. She let out a breath of relief. “Thank you,” she said softly as they passed the pillars and approached the wooden door at the front of the house.

Adora took her turn to hesitate as they faced the old, worn surface. Her eyes looked glazed over; her muscles tense. Catra hated to see her this way.

She gave her partner’s hand a little squeeze to rouse her, and Adora visibly jerked. She didn’t waste anymore time, though, in raising her fist and knocking on the door. Catra could tell she was still holding her breath.

They didn’t have to wait long before the portal cracked open, and that held breath rushed out of Adora like she’d been punched.

A tall, thin woman stood in the gap, the white hair capping her dark head almost aglow in the moonlight. Her pale eyes were like stone as she looked down at the girls on her doorstep. A tense beat passed as she studied them, and then her brows bunched. As if as an afterthought, Adora reached up and pulled away her hat so her golden hair was visible, and the woman’s expression cleared.

“Adora?”

“Yes,” Adora tried, but her voice was thick and scratchy with nerves and dust, so she cleared her throat and tried again. “Yes, it’s me.”

“Adora. What are you doing here?” The woman opened her door wider and stepped forward as if to give Adora a hug, but stopped a pace away and simply clasped her forearm in greeting instead. What a sap. _She’s the most pessimistic, stonefaced, robotic woman you’ll ever meet,_ Adora's words came back to Catra. Then the woman’s eyes shifted to Catra suspiciously; piercing and pale blue. “And who is this?” 

Adora glanced at the girl beside her. “This is my—” Here she paused, caught off guard and floundering. “—my friend.” Catra didn’t blame her; simply nodded to the tall, slim stranger in curt respect. Adora's shoulders relaxed a fraction. “May we stay for the night?”

The woman’s icy eyes did not thaw in the slightest. “You still have not told me why you are here.”

“I think that’s a conversation best left until morning,” Adora responded, sounding a little hesitant, like she was afraid of crossing her old mentor.

But the tall woman didn’t look angry. In fact, she didn’t look like anything at all. Her face remained impassive as she nodded stiffly and turned aside to allow them in. “It is good to see you, Adora,” was the most personable thing she said to them. 

Adora faced her and gave her a traditional bow. “And you, Sifu Light Hope.” Though she sounded respectful, Catra had to wonder how true that really was.

This Light Hope gave her a shallow bow in return. “I assume you remember where your room is,” she said to Adora, and then fixed her pale gaze on Catra, freezing her in place. “But I do not have any extra beds.”

“She can stay with me,” assured Adora just a touch too quickly. She too looked to her companion as if searching for any hint of protest, but Catra didn’t offer any. She wasn’t about to embarrass Adora in front of her frigid mentor.

“Very well,” Light Hope conceded with a slow, calculating glance between them, stopping on her former pupil. “I will anxiously await hearing about whatever it is that has brought you here.” The statement had a hard edge to it—not quite a veiled threat, but perhaps a veiled command. Catra could hear Adora swallow with effort beside her.

 _You spent your whole childhood with this lady?_ Catra had to wonder. This was almost as bad as Weaver. Not that this chilly stranger was beating Adora or anything, but the way Adora reacted to her… 

Catra inched just a little closer to the other girl, protective.

Light Hope nodded to them both, and then turned and disappeared through a curtain into what was presumably the main area of the house. As soon as she was out of sight, Adora let out a breath of relief. Catra glanced up at her in concern.

“I get why you didn’t want to come back here,” she said at a clandestine whisper.

Adora just nodded and sighed, her face looking drawn; pale in the dark. “My room was— _is_ this way.” She extended her arm to guide Catra off to the right, through a green curtain that matched the one she had at Razz’s. That little detail gave Catra a pang of something like sympathy; Adora was sentimental enough—or _lonely_ enough in the city that she’d hung up something from home. She got the urge to hold Adora's hand again as a comforting gesture, but doubted how welcome it would be right now. The best thing for Adora at the moment would be to slip into sleep and escape this nostalgic nightmare she was living.

Only, when Catra stepped into her room and laid eyes on the single tiny bed, she began to doubt how easily that escape would come. She gave Adora an incredulous glance as the taller girl entered the room behind her.

“Are you sure you want me to stay with you?”

Adora stopped and looked around the room, taking in the dusty rush rug on the floor; the Earth Kingdom tapestries (and a Water Tribe dreamcatcher) on the walls; the gas lamp on a night table strewn with personal effects. A trunk against the front windowed wall lay open, with clothes in Adora's usual earth tones stacked messily inside. Adora must have left in a hurry.

The sun-haired girl let her duffel bag fall to the floor by her feet, sending up a light cloud of dust. “Yeah,” she said, voice hoarse as she was virtually slapped in the face with the memories of her old life. She gripped the doorframe as if she were trying to resist bolting from the room. “Please.”

“There’s not a whole lot of room in there,” Catra observed softly, with a hint of teasing, tilting her chin toward the bed.

Adora fixed her with a heavy look, and in the dark Catra couldn’t tell if it was annoyed, heated, or just dead tired. “We’ll manage,” she said, and her voice was no more telling.

Catra didn’t say anything else as she headed toward the bed. She wanted to stay, of course, but not if it was going to be more an inconvenience than a comfort. But Adora didn’t change her mind, even as Catra climbed onto the straw-filled mattress and her small form took up most of the bed. 

Adora went to the trunk against the wall and stripped her shirt off, leaving the muscled plane of her back open to Catra's view. It was only visible in the moonlight for a short second before she replaced it with a clean shirt from the trunk, but it still left Catra's throat dry.

 _How did I end up here?_ she marvelled as she leaned against Adora's pillow, watching the taller girl approach and hardly believing her eyes. _How did_ we _end up here?_

The mattress dipped as Adora lowered her weight onto it as well. She scooted down until her head was on her pillow and her legs beneath the thin quilt (green like everything else in this place), and once she was settled Catra descended beside her.

It was snug; warm. To fit, Adora bent her arm up to cushion both of their heads, and Catra basically lay on top of her chest, arm thrown across to hold the curve of her hip. When they rolled to face each other, their noses were inches apart. For a long minute, it was silent except for their breathing.

Then, “Hey, Adora,” Catra couldn’t resist whispering sultrily into the narrow space.

Adora smiled for the first time since they’d gotten off the train. Catra regretted that it was too dark to fully enjoy it.

“Hey,” she replied softly. 

Her voice landed muffled in the dark, and the two girls regarded each other tenderly, both tired yet tense enough that sleep would likely elude them despite the comfortable position they were in. As if sleep weren’t the thing they both needed most right now.

And, Catra could think of some things to do with their time in the interim (she _loved_ being this close to Adora. Maybe a little too much for her own good), but she also didn’t want to put too much pressure on her companion right now. She shifted on Adora's arm, feeling a little nervous all of a sudden. Adora tilted her chin up to hold Catra's eyes, a soft question rising to them as she noticed the other girl’s hesitation.

Catra swallowed down her unsurety and spoke before she could psych herself out. Before temptation and proximity overwhelmed her and she did something stupid without even asking first. “C-can I kiss you?” she finally blurted, cheeks heating as she realized how desperate she probably sounded.

She could _feel_ Adora's breath hitch in her chest. The sun-haired girl drew in a long breath, and then on her shaky exhale almost whimpered, “Yeah.”

 _Yes,_ Catra celebrated, but although Adora's certain answer helped to put her at ease, she was still tentative as she wet her lips and leaned in.

Adora met her halfway. The contact was like a breath of fresh air after a day in the Earth Kingdom’s dust; like falling into bed after a grueling day of work; like the first chance to rest in a trip halfway across the globe—it was relief, and Catra was instantly hooked.

She groaned contentedly as Adora broke away for a split second only to return with another, firmer kiss, then another. It started out slow; sweet. Catra lifted her hand to feather along Adora's jaw, an apology for the twin scratches that lay there, and Adora ran her own hand along the curve of Catra's waist.

Gradually they fell further, deeper, until the pressure in Catra's chest increased to crushing and traveled lower. She thought of the first time they’d found themselves like this, tangled up in each other and in a cloud of má on her couch, and what Adora had said. She ached to tell Adora the same—to admit that _I love you too_ —but she was so afraid. She’d much rather try to communicate it to Adora with the caress of her lips and tongue; of the warmth of their forms pressed together, but she knew that would not do forever.

For now, she raised herself up on one elbow for a better angle, and was surprised when Adora gripped her firmly by the thighs and pulled her the rest of the way over so she was on top of her. Catra had to catch herself with a hand on either side of Adora's head to keep her balance.

Cheeks flaming, breath coming a little heavy, she wondered where exactly Adora intended for this to go. And, if she was assuming correctly, “Do you think Light Hope will mind?”

“Not if we’re quiet,” Adora replied in a rough murmur. 

Those words, along with the deliberate stroke of Adora's fingers along her upper thighs, sent a healthy jolt through Catra's whole body. So Adora was in _that_ kind of mood. Catra didn't mind, but she had to deflect to buy herself time to compose herself: “Why’s that her name, anyway?”

“It started as a joke,” Adora provided. “Her name is Hope, but my mother—” Her voice cracked and she cleared her throat and continued quickly, “—my mother would call her Light Hope to poke fun at her for being so gloomy all the time. And after she died…” Adora cleared her throat again, harder, like she was irritated with herself for being so emotional. “It stuck, I guess.”

Catra winced, feeling like she should be the one irritated with herself. Here she was trying to get Adora's mind off of the stress bearing down on her, and instead she blundered right into a conversation about her late mother. Could she be any more stupid?

She let her head fall forward so her face was hidden in the pillow. “Spirits, Adora, I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to—”

“Be quiet,” Adora cut her off, voice sharp but gentle as a breath. And— 

_Oh._ Catra was startled by the command in combination with the way Adora tugged her head back up by her hair, but she relaxed when they met once again in a kiss. She was glad to drown their pain in a haze of affection, even if Adora was bold, this time; controlling. It was new to Catra and a little nerve-wracking, but she understood. She knew how Adora was feeling: lost, anxious, helpless, and if Catra could ease her struggle by letting her take charge of this then she would. So when Adora rolled them both over so she was on top, their mouths still locked, and clung to Catra like she was a lifeline, Catra held her tight. When her hands ventured under Catra's clothes, seeking solace, Catra did her best to provide for the girl she loved.

When her tears slipped free and wet Catra's face, she pretended like she didn’t notice.

She didn’t know why it had taken her this long to realize that she would do anything for Adora.

…


	15. Chapter 15

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> listen y'all I don't even like these chapters either, but our girls gotta face their demons before they can be happy (read: gay), you know?

They woke tangled together. There was little other way to wake when they were squeezed into a ramshackle bed made for one, but still. When Adora opened her eyes and took a deep, bracing breath in preparation to meet the day, it shifted Catra's head on her chest so she surfaced from sleep as well.

The brunette groaned, much preferring to stay asleep and pretend like they didn’t have shit to do, but Adora curled her arm around her to rub her shoulder rousingly. 

“Come on, Catra,” she murmured, continuing the motion of her hand until Catra groaned again and rolled off of her.

Only, the edge of the bed was closer than Catra thought, and she tipped over the edge with a yelp. Her ass smacking into the dirt floor effectively jarred her into full awareness. “Ow,” she grumbled, rubbing her tailbone with one hand and smoothing her mussed hair down with the other. When Adora leaned over the edge of the bed to give her a teasing smile, she looked up with a deepening scowl. “You think that’s funny?”

“Mm-hm,” Adora hummed, eyes still sparkling, and leaned over to give Catra a soothing peck on the forehead. “I’m sure you’ll live.”

Catra wanted to tilt her chin up and steal a kiss somewhere better, but her mouth tasted gross from sleep, so instead she pushed to her feet and flicked Adora in her own forehead.

“Hey!” yelped the other girl, and Catra was too thankful for this lighthearted moment to feet bad about repaying her so annoyingly. She was glad Adora could laugh at all right now when she had such pressure weighing on her shoulders.

But the moment couldn’t last. Worry caught up to Adora, and her eyes gradually shadowed, looking gray in the filtered morning light. She took Catra's near hand in her own and pressed it to her cheek for comfort, letting out a long sigh. 

“We’d better go talk to Light Hope,” she mumbled without much conviction.

Catra adjusted her grip to cradle Adora's cheek more tenderly, coaxing her gaze up to meet her mismatched one. “I’m with you,” she encouraged. “We’ll figure this out.”

Adora closed her eyes and nodded gratefully with another sigh. They remained that way for a moment before Adora seemed to collect herself and climbed out of the bed, not without a final squeeze of Catra's hand. She straightened and looked around the room, her eyes landing on the chest against the wall. “Let me clean up first.” 

Catra let her, and Adora crossed to pick out a fresh set of clothes from the trunk before heading for the tiny washroom on the opposite wall. Catra figured she should straighten up as well, but she wasn’t about to barge in on Adora bathing, so she perched on the nightstand and picked at her nails while she waited for her to finish.

Adora was out in twenty minutes, skin freshly scrubbed, hair damp brown, and a clean green tunic wrapped around her. Her hat was abandoned to her duffel bag, because there was little use in hiding her identity now. Catra might have flirted with her for looking so nice if the situation had been less tense. Instead she slid off the nightstand and took her turn in the steamy washroom with just a bolstering half-smile in her partner’s direction. She really couldn’t wait to be done with this place, if only to see Adora back to normal again. At the same time she knew that this was a demon Adora would have to face, or her normal wouldn’t ever truly _be_ normal. She’d seen enough of Adora's constant inner conflict that she acknowledged that hard truth.

She took as little time washing up as she could, so Adora wouldn’t have to stew in her dread for long. When she emerged as clean as she ever got, Adora was standing a little awkwardly at the foot of the bed, her hand on the mattress over a pile of folded clothes. Catra's eyes cut from Adora's expression to the clothes and immediately took a guess what was coming, and she opened her mouth to protest.

“Catra,” Adora stopped her before she could. “Would you—” Her gaze lowered and her grip tightened on the sleeveless brown tunic on top of the pile. “Would you consider accepting these? I know you always say you don’t want help but—”

“You want me to make a good impression on your old buddies, huh?” Catra responded, pacing toward her slowly, and an age ago she may have sounded bitter, but now her voice was soft, understanding.

Adora looked up in surprise, maybe expecting that old asperity, and shook her head. As Catra approached she reached out to meet her halfway, sliding her hands up Catra's arms to hold her shoulders gently. “I want to provide for you,” she whispered. Her throat jumped in a swallow. “The way you’ve provided for me.”

Whether she meant just coming on this trip, offering her steadily encouraging presence, or even last night, Catra felt her cheeks flush at the sincerity of her sentiment. “Adora, you’ve already—”

“Please,” Adora interrupted, freeing Catra's shoulders in favor of grabbing the clothes and holding them out to her. “Think of it as…a new start.”

And, Catra could do that. She was perfectly willing—anxious, even—to leave behind her past in Republic City and all the ties that bound her to it. The faded blue tunic and baggy pants that she’d had for as long as she could remember were one of those ties, in a way. They carried the smell of má smoke, the stains of her experience with Weaver, the chill of her encounter with Amon; all things she would gladly be rid of. They carried the warmth of Adora's first touches, too, but that was something she could get back. That was something she could tie to this new start. This new chapter in her life. This better one.

If that notion hadn’t convinced her, the look in Adora's eyes would have. Those blue-gray irises were so soft, so loving, and Catra wanted nothing more to please the girl who owned them.

“All right,” she replied, taking the pile from Adora's hands. She met those eyes and tried to make Adora understand the depth of her words when she added, “Thank you.”

Adora gave her a nod and a smile so gentle that it almost hurt. She remained standing there as Catra stepped back and stripped off her old clothes to replace them with the new ones, eyes respectfully averted (mostly).

Catra didn’t just feel cleaner in the red-trimmed brown tunic and dark gathered breeches; she felt like an entirely different person. That might have bothered her, once; played off her insecurities and knocked her off balance, but now it felt freeing. She found herself grinning at the sensation, and when she looked up from straightening her tunic, Adora matched her expression.

“Pretty sexy,” observed the taller girl teasingly.

Catra was so caught off guard that her eyebrows shot up and her face flamed against her will. “Uh—” For once she had no clue how to respond. _I could say the same about you_ or _oh, you’re in that kind of mood?_ came to mind first, but somehow neither quite fit this moment. 

Thankfully Adora saved her from floundering by laughing it off lightly and bumping her shoulder. Then her smile shrank to something more sober, and she tilted her head toward the curtained doorway. “Let’s go see her.”

Catra had known it was coming, but now that she was actually faced with the reality of the meeting with Light Hope—the one that would determine a major point in hers and Adora's lives—her heartbeat began to pick up nauseatingly. She nodded and headed toward the door regardless, trying to fight the feeling down. She couldn’t imagine how Adora must be faring. Again, she wanted to take Adora's hand, but she was reluctant to make any shows of affection, however small, while Light Hope was watching. Instead she just chewed the inside of her cheek, closed her hands into fists at her sides, and tried to look strong as she followed Adora into the main area of the house.

Light Hope was not in the living area, which confused Catra, but Adora seemed to have expected this. She led the way across the carpeted and couched space to a wooden door in the back wall, which she pushed open. It led out onto a planked porch area raised a half foot off the ground, sheltered by a slanting roof and furnished with a couple of outdoor chairs. What caught Catra's attention was not the porch, however, nor the tall, slim figure seated in one of the chairs, but the scene beyond it. 

The porch ended at a flattened dirt yard scattered with stone practice targets of all types: round, humanoid, many-armed, and even spiked. Markings had been painted on the ground around each grouping of targets, and though Catra didn’t know exactly what they meant, they were clearly dedicated to training exercises. At the near end of the yard was a rack full of blunted practice weapons, and beside that a second rack of stone disks of various sizes. 

_This is what Adora's childhood looked like?_ Catra thought, aghast.

If that wasn’t jarring enough, in the clearing past the yard where several other houses’ backyards converged in a circular sort of courtyard, a small stone dais stood in the center. On it was a squared-off pillar reaching to about hip level, and from that pillar protruded the golden hilt of a sword.

“Holy shit,” Catra murmured, suddenly breathless as the sight of the sword— _the Sword—_ hit her like a blow. She completely forgot about making a good impression on Light Hope until she noticed Adora's jaw tighten in her peripheral vision. Then, _oh, shit,_ was the phrase crossing her mind instead. 

There was an awkward pause during which Light Hope turned her head to regard the two girls with her icy blue eyes (which were no warmer in the sunlight), but said nothing.

Adora took the initiative. She cleared her throat and then, in a voice Catra would almost call timid, greeted, “Good morning, Sifu Light Hope,” with a shallow bow. Catra caught on quickly and echoed the motion herself.

Light Hope acknowledged them with barely a nod. “Hello, Adora. Are you ready to explain yourself?”

This woman really didn’t waste any time, did she? Catra felt the back of her neck prickle with anxiety and glanced at Adora, who didn’t glance back. 

Instead she held her ground against her old mentor and asked, “May we sit?” 

Light Hope inclined her head a fraction again, and Catra and Adora navigated to the two chairs situated across the porch from hers, facing her. Adora shifted awkwardly for a moment, trying to find a comfortable position, before giving up and sitting straight-backed with her hands on her knees, almost like some form of attention. Light Hope’s expression didn’t waver, so it was impossible to tell whether she approved or not.

 _What did this woman_ do _to her?_

“There was a—conflict, in Republic City,” Adora began tightly. Light Hope watched her steadily, and Catra could tell the other girl was trying not to squirm in her seat. “A man tried to lead a revolution against benders, saying they were oppressing people somehow. They called themselves Equalists. He—” Here she glanced away, and her eyes met Catra's in a silent apology before continuing. “He had the power to take away people’s bending. He—he did that to Catra.” She slid her gaze back to Light Hope; intense, pleading before she even posed the question: “We have to get to the South Pole so the Avatar can heal her, but we need funds. Will you help us?”

For a long, agonizing minute, Light Hope was silent. The only noise around them was the gust of the wind through the desert passage and the pounding of their hearts in anxious anticipation of her answer. She never took that pale gaze from Adora's face, even as she slowly leaned back in her chair and crossed one long leg over the other.

Finally, she said, “I have a feeling you already know what I am going to say.”

Instantly Adora's eyes deadened, and the soldier-like stiffness slipped from her shoulders. “The stupid sword,” she said shortly, no longer trying to keep up her respectful façade. “Yeah. I figured.”

Light Hope made a tsk-ing sound in her throat and leaned forward to place her chin delicately on her fist, bringing that piercing gaze even closer to her victim. “That attitude may not be the best way to earn my favor, Adora.”

“What do you want me to say, Light Hope?” Adora burst out, miserably frustrated that this conversation had gone exactly where she’d thought it would. Where she’d _feared_ it would. “That fucking thing tainted my childhood and uprooted my life and you expect me to be happy about it?” Catra could see the shimmer of tears beginning to well in her eyes and her heart ached in sympathy. All she wanted to do was take Adora in her arms and get her out of this suffocating place. 

Light Hope’s expression didn’t change, though. She showed no sign of even caring that Adora was in such pain. “I will say it again, Adora,” she responded flatly, “That attitude will not gain you my favor.”

_She really is the most robotic woman I’ve ever met._

“Then what do you want me to do?” Adora demanded, slumping back in her chair defeatedly.

“Touch the sword.”

“If I touch it, will you give us enough money for a return trip from the South Pole?”

Light Hope, if possible, went even more still. Her eyes finally moved away from Adora's face to scan Catra's instead. Catra tried not to let her anger at this woman show, figuring it would indeed be a poor way to earn her favor, but inside she was fuming. She would have already dragged Adora up and out from under this bitch’s thumb if their future didn’t depend on her generosity. She wished it didn’t. She wished they’d never even had to come here. She wished she still had her bending. She wished a lot of things.

Maybe she succeeded in hiding her feelings, or maybe she failed and the fire in her eyes was what convinced Light Hope, but eventually the woman looked back at Adora and said simply, “Yes.”

Adora let out a long sigh, and Catra didn’t know whether it was one of disappointment or relief. Spots of red stained her cheeks from the height of her emotion. She swiped a hand across her eyes to dash away any trace of tears and nodded. At first it was barely a twitch of her head, but then she looked up, straight into Light Hope’s unforgiving obs, and the gesture became convicted.

“Fine. Fine, Light Hope. I’ll touch your stupid sword.” She switched her gaze to Catra, who was struck by the intensity of it. “For Catra.”

“It was foolish of you to try to run from your fate,” said Adora's old mentor ominously, straightening to her feet to tower over the two girls. Her eyes bored into her spirit-marked pupil. “I will gather the elders. You will meet us at the shrine at midday.”

Without waiting for confirmation—expecting for her word to be taken as law—she left the porch and strode off in the direction of the village center, almost gliding across the dirt with the smoothness of her step. Her path took her toward the largest building in the village: a long, flat stone structure with a multitude of ancient sigils out front—at least as many as were on the pillars of this one. 

Catra watched her go before turning her attention to Adora.

The sun-haired girl was doubled over in her seat with her elbows on her knees and her head in her hands. Her back was rising and falling with too-quick breaths, and Catra was instantly worried. She’d only looked away for a moment! Adora was even less okay than she’d thought. She slid out of her own seat to fall to her knees in front of her partner, placing her hands on Adora's knees in an attempt at comfort.

“Adora,” she prompted gently, insistently, “what do you need?”

Adora took a long second to answer. “I—I—I don’t know.” Her fingers pressed into her temples. “I can’t do this. We came all this way and I can’t—” She broke off in favor of gasping for breath, and when she raised her head to face Catra there was panic in her eyes. “Catra, this is why I ran in the first place.”

“I know.” Catra ran her hands from Adora's knees up to her arms, rubbing soothingly. “I know, baby. I get it. But you _can._ ” When Adora shook her head and wouldn’t look at her, eyes focusing somewhere far away or perhaps inside, Catra shifted her hands again to cup the other girl’s face. “Adora, you can. You’re strong. You can do this.” She sat up on her knees to bring herself within Adora's line of sight and met those moist blue-gray orbs. “And if you don’t want to, then it’s okay. We can leave. We can stay at the South Pole. We’ll be okay.”

Adora shook her head again, still taking painful, shuddering breaths. She placed shaky hands on Catra's waist and pulled her closer so she was sitting between her knees. “I have to get you back. I promised—”

“Adora, now that I’ve left Republic City, I don’t care about going back,” Catra interrupted. Then, softer, she admitted, “The only reason I’d go back is to be with you.”

That made Adora snap into full focus. Her next labored breath came out a whimper, and her grip on Catra tightened. “Really?”

“Yeah,” Catra responded, raising a hand to Adora's chin to tilt her head up slightly, eyes dropping to her lips. She didn’t lean in, waiting for Adora to decide whether this was something she wanted right now. All she cared about was taking care of Adora. 

But Adora seemed to want it. On a sharp inhale she leaned in to catch Catra's lips abruptly. Her touch was a little fevered; a little desperate, but Catra slid her hands up behind her head to hold her steady. She could feel the other girl’s hands still trembling, her chest still hiccuping to get enough air, but as Catra grounded her with a deepening kiss, that tension slowly began to fade. Catra savored the return to warmth; the ability to provide Adora this comfort.

It was Adora who pulled away first with a final shuddering sigh. She kept her brow against Catra's and her eyes down, as if embarrassed.

“You’ll really be okay even if this doesn’t work?” she asked in a small voice.

“Yes,” Catra said immediately, taking Adora's face in her hands to give her a soft kiss right beside her mouth. “You’re enough, Adora. No matter what.”

Adora's hands came up to catch her wrists, and Catra heard her breath hitch. She was concerned that Adora was spiralling again until she whispered fiercely, “I love you.”

And—

Catra let those words flow over her without fighting them, finally. She let them bloom in her own mind and she acknowledged it without her usual fear, finally. She thought she might be able to say it back this time, finally, because after seeing Adora so vulnerable, there was no fear of feeling vulnerable herself anymore. She trusted Adora completely, and with that trust came the certainty of love.

But Adora seemed to anticipate her usual silence and didn’t give her the time to answer, instead pulling her in for another kiss. As Catra tilted her head and parted her lips to give Adora easier access, their closeness filled her with contented warmth despite the hell of their situation, and she thought with the euphoria of new freedom,

_Yeah. This is what love feels like._

… 

  
  


Midday couldn’t have come soon enough.

Even though they were both dreading the meeting with the elders—the decision-making body of the traditionalist village—having nothing to do until then except stew was worse. Adora spent most of the morning perched on the edge of Light Hope’s porch, staring across the training yard to the circular courtyard where the sword stood. Catra didn’t know what to do to ease her worry, so she simply stayed by her side the whole time, reminding herself _stronger together_. 

With their attention on the courtyard as it was, they saw the exact moment the elders emerged from the long stone building Light Hope had gone into. There were five of them, and though the woman at the head of the line was bent and white-haired, the other four did not look very elderly at all. They were all decked out in the usual Earth Kingdom neutrals, except for a mantle of vibrant green thrown over each of their shoulders. Light Hope’s tall form trailed behind them, as if shepherding them along.

At the sight of them, Adora sucked in a steadying breath. “There they are,” she observed, the trepidation clear in her voice.

Catra squinted at them as they filed across the courtyard toward the sword pedestal—what Light Hope had called the shrine. “Why don’t they look old?” she asked, mostly in an attempt to get Adora's mind off of the impending trial, if for just a moment.

“The elders aren’t necessarily the oldest in the village,” said Adora, and when Catra shot her a confused glance she continued, “The title is more symbolic; left over from the old days. Now the council is chosen based on who’s wisest and most respected.” She wrapped her arms tighter around her knees and let her chin sink onto them. “Supposedly.”

Catra let out a sympathetic sigh and reached across to massage Adora's near shoulder in an attempt at comfort. “Maybe they’ll be wise enough to take your side.”

Adora shook her head glumly. “The lady leading them…” She flicked her hand in halfhearted indication at the white-haired crone. “That’s Zhen. She’s been the head elder since I was a child. She knows all about the prophecy. All about me.” _All about what I’m supposed to be,_ was her underlying point.

Catra didn’t know what to say to comfort her. As it turned out, she didn’t get the chance to. Adora pushed herself to her feet in a sudden, swift motion, as if she didn’t trust herself to complete it otherwise. Her posture looked painful, and her hands were clenched into fists at her sides.

“Adora—” Catra started, but received a hasty shake of the head to cut her off.

“It’s time. I have to go,” Adora said, audibly struggling to swallow down her fear.

When she went, Catra went with her.

As they began across the training yard toward the shrine where the elders had gathered, movement from between the surrounding houses caught Catra's eye. A scattering of regular villagers were straggling away from their daily duties to converge on the courtyard, apparently drawn by the news of Adora's decision. Catra threw a glance over at Light Hope, who was watching Adora intently. She must have done this on purpose. To pressure Adora. With more people watching, there was less likelihood of her backing out. Catra felt her lip curl as her distaste for the woman spiked.

Adora kept her eyes forward, intentionally ignoring the gathering crowd. Catra knew she was doing it to keep a hold on her nerves. If she thought too much, anxiety would take her again.

She approached the shrine where the golden hilt of the Sword of Protection glinted from the pillar of stone. The elders stood in a row before it, Zhen in the center. Close up, Catra could see that her figure vaguely resembled Razz’s, although her face was haggard and pale and nowhere near as kind.

As Adora stopped in front of them, Catra at her shoulder, Zhen inclined her frizzy white head slightly. “Greetings, Shira,” she said, and her voice was just as grating as her appearance.

Adora let out her breath in a disappointed sigh instantly. They really weren’t going to give her an easy time of this. But she forced a respectful bow and replied anyway, “Greetings, Zhen-zŏng.”

“You know why you have been called here.” Zhen didn’t phrase it as a question, but Adora nodded anyway. “It is about time you faced your destiny.”

The haunting, condescending phrase reminded Catra of Light Hope, and her dislike extended to include this bent old woman. Was everyone intent on punishing Adora for something that wasn’t her fault? Was everyone here a bitter, unforgiving hag?

She wanted to do something about it, but she doubted that decking the old woman would do much to help their case. So she held her tongue and kept her eyes down, trusting that Adora would remain strong under the abuse.

And she did. “I’m not doing it for you,” was the sun-haired girl’s terse response, and though a gasp went up from the crowd, she didn’t waver.

At first Zhen looked angry, her brow wrinkling and her chin quivering with the force of the emotion, but then she seemed to remember herself and her bent posture relaxed. “No matter,” she crooned. “The prophecy will be fulfilled, one way or another. Come, Shira.”

Adora's jaw tightened, and her eyes were steely gray. But when Zhen stepped aside to open a path to the sword shrine and motioned for Adora to approach, she stepped forward wordlessly. Her absence from Catra's side left a chill in the air.

A thick, tense atmosphere hung over the circular courtyard. The modest crowd that had come to see the fate of their village decided was silent in anticipation. Adora was like a statue, back straight under the weight of their gazes, skin pale as marble. The elders watched her like a tasty meal being laid out before them.

The quiet seemed undercut by a faint, metallic buzz—at least to Catra's ears—the closer Adora got to the shining sword. She chalked it up to her nerves, just like her desert-dry throat and her racing heartbeat, but as it rose in volume and intensity it became hard to ignore. Catra watched Adora's back intently, noticing the light stain of anxious sweat along her spine, and tried not to be afraid for her. As Adora reached the pedestal and stopped, the buzzing became an insistent static. Catra shook her head slightly and raised a hand to her ear as if to swat it away, but it went somehow deeper than her physical sense.

Her motion caught the eye of the head elder, and the turn of the old woman’s head was so prominent in the stillness of the courtyard that Catra's gaze flicked to hers of its own accord. Their eyes locked.

Zhen’s widened. Her bent form abruptly unfolded, and her mouth dropped open in a gasp, deafening in the otherwise silence.

“Māo Meili!” she cried out. The villagers around her jumped and whipped around as if struck. The other elders wrenched their attention away from their precious Shira in favor of staring Catra down.

And—Catra vaguely recognized that name. Razz had called her the same. But where Razz had sounded fond and kind saying it, the head elder sounded positively outraged.

Catra took a step back, head on a swivel to try to keep track of all the hostile eyes on her at once. “What? Who?” she demanded desperately. She could feel panic crawling up her throat like it always did when she was backed into a corner. She sought out Adora's gaze in the crowd and gave her a look that said _help!_ “I’m Catra.”

“The spirit from legend in a new form!” Zhen ranted as if she hadn’t spoken. She threw her arms up to gesticulate to the crowd, who hung on her every word like zealots. “The prophecy states that she will be identifiable by her eyes, which glow like sky and sun!”

_Oh, no._

_Oh, shit._

_The prophecy. The spirit._

_The cat._

Catra looked fearfully at Adora and Adora stared back with a mix of shock, horror and dread on her paling face. Then Catra shifted her gaze past her to Light Hope, wondering with sick suspicion whether she’d known the whole time and made Adora do this anyway. Light Hope was already watching her, and Catra felt rage burn up her throat. _She knew. That bitch._

Speaking of bitch, Zhen the elder hadn’t stopped hollering. “ _Y_ _ou_ are the enemy she must defeat once and for all!” she shrieked, jabbing a furious finger in Catra's direction as if ordering Adora to attack.

The rabid declaration made Catra take a step back, and her eyes flicked from Adora to the sword and back. This couldn’t be. Adora wouldn’t. She wouldn’t hurt Catra. She couldn’t. Right? She’d spurned the prophecy for this long; surely she could keep on doing it. They’d been through too much together to throw it all away now.

But old instinct made Catra afraid, and she shrank away from the girl she’d come to trust most in the world.

“It can’t be.” Adora’s hard voice, echoing her thoughts, made Catra relax just a fraction. “I won’t do it.” The girl they thought to be Shira stepped away from the pedestal; the precious sword, and instead closed the distance back to Catra's side, wrapping a protective arm around her waist. She faced the disapproving glares of the elders with steely eyes, as if to say _I am not your hero._ Relief flooded through Catra and she found herself leaning into her partner’s embrace. She felt ashamed to have doubted her. Adora remained stiff as a rock against her side.

“You cannot let the prophecy go unfulfilled,” Zhen tried to insist, a crazy edge to her voice, like she couldn’t comprehend that someone was neglecting her will. “Otherwise our village will remain vulnerable to this—this beast!” She waved furiously at Catra.

Adora’s hand tightened on the curve of Catra's waist. “Catra is not a beast, and she’s not evil. She’s not going to hurt any of you,” she said with absolute certainty, and Catra was floored by the weight of her love for this girl. Even though Catra had hurt her in the past—more than once—she defended her without question now. She sacrificed everything for her.

_What did I ever do to deserve her?_

The villagers were murmuring, complaining, trying to argue: “But the prophecy—!” 

“Is wrong!” Adora cut them off fiercely. “There’s no final battle to decide the fate of the village. It’s just a stupid story.” 

“The struggle that our ancestors faced was real! And it was _her_ fault!” the head elder shrieked in outrage. She turned to the crowd gathered behind her and leveled an accusing finger at Catra again. “Seize her!”

Many of the onlookers hesitated, but a group of young men broke off from the crowd and rushed her, probably eager to prove their worth to their elders. Adora began to step in front of her but Catra shouldered her away, falling into a fighting stance herself. 

“Stronger together,” she said tightly in response to Adora's surprised glance. What she really meant, faced with the snarling visages of six muscular young men and deprived of her bending, was _we’re going down together—_ because things were going downhill fast.

Catra figured she should have expected it, with her luck.

She met the first young man’s rush with a deflection with her elbow and a counter to the gut, then the jaw, then a kick to the side of the knee that sent him sprawling. The next goon took his place instantly and landed a swing to her ribs before she could regain her stance. Catra grunted as her breath left her and twisted out of the way of another wild punch, jabbing her elbow out to give him a taste of his own medicine. He stumbled, but a third opponent was on her now, and she couldn’t defend against two sets of flying limbs at once. Pain exploded from multiple points on her body as they surrounded her, and it was all she could do to raise her arms and shield her head from a knockout blow.

Based on what she could hear from Adora's side of the fight, she wasn’t faring much better.

The truth was, stronger together or not, they were sorely outnumbered and Catra was off balance without her bending; off her game. Practically helpless. 

The first man she’d hit came surging back into the fight then, and the three of them converged on her together.

The feeling of their iron grip closing around her arms, her hair, was painfully, terrifyingly familiar. Without meaning to, she cried out, “Adora,” on a hoarse gasp.

She could not do this again. It was way too similar to her nightmare experience at Air Temple Island. Here she was getting dragged away again; reaching for Adora only to have her torn away from her grasp again, and she could feel fear like a cage closing around her chest and throat, tightening, cutting off her breath. Her lungs began to hurt as she gasped for air around the crushing barrier. “Adora!”

But this time, Adora did not let her go. In a sudden whirlwind of rage-fueled strikes, she knocked down all three men around her, then bounded over and felled the ones holding Catra too. Then she pushed Catra behind her taller form, placing herself between her and the rest of their opponents, and as the young men groaned on the ground, she faced the village elders.

“I won’t let you hurt her,” she said, dangerously soft. “If you want her dead, you’ll have to take down your precious Shira, too.”

Zhen and her compatriots fumed. “This is an outrage! How can you betray your own people this way?” she practically screamed, looking like she would have throttled them both herself if she weren’t so frail.

“You aren’t my people. Catra is,” Adora said without a shred of doubt or hesitation.

Despite their predicament, Catra felt her heart soar. _Yeah, I—I love you,_ she thought suddenly, and hoped she had not wasted all her chances to say it. She pressed close to her partner’s side again.

But the elders’ expressions darkened frightfully. There was a long pause, during which Zhen tested her angry gaze against Adora’s and lost. Then, with a vicious snarl, she conceded: “Very well then. If you are not for us, you are against us.” She flicked her hand to the crowd again. “Take them away.”

It took a long moment for anyone to step forward this time, but when they did, the two girls did not resist.

…

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> wow, shock. not.


	16. Chapter 16

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> lol y'all I know catra being the cat is obvious to us but in this au she had no reason to believe there was a connection (unless she could translate my valiant yet doomed attempt to call her something telling in Chinese)

The village didn’t have a jail.

Instead they threw Catra and Adora into the basement of the elders’ long stone meeting hall, where a pair of ancient cells stood, dusty and dingy from disuse. Catra wondered what the cells had been for, in the village’s old days. Whether they had held actual criminals or just enemies of the elder council. She supposed it didn’t matter much; here, they were one and the same.

There had been a dividing wall between the two cells once, but it was so crumbled that it provided no real barrier between them. Thus, even though the volunteers who’d thrown them in here placed them in separate cells, they didn’t stay that way for long. As soon as they left, Catra climbed across the remains of the stone wall into Adora's cell and joined her where she lay dejectedly on the floor.

Although Adora's eyes were distant and her limbs were limp, she didn’t protest when Catra curled up next to her and rested her head on her chest. In fact, she regained just enough spirit to wrap her arm around Catra's waist gratefully. Catra was marginally comforted that she wasn’t totally despondent. She couldn’t imagine what Adora was feeling right now. All she could do was provide her presence and her warmth and hope for Adora's sake that it was enough.

It was a long time before either of them said a word.

A bar of moonlight had worked its way across the floor and was currently shining across Adora's face when she finally spoke.

“You know,” she mumbled into the dim silence, “when I said I wanted to show you the stars in my home village, this isn’t what I meant.”

Catra turned over so that she could follow Adora's gaze and realized that it was aimed out the barred window at the dark expanse above, which shimmered like a silver blanket just the way she’d heard in stories. She could only see a sliver of it through their narrow portal, but still. She placed a hand comfortingly on Adora's upper chest and whispered, “They’re beautiful.”

Adora's only response was a sigh so heavy that it shifted Catra on her chest. Catra didn’t like this silence; this sorrow. She didn’t like the way Adora's eyes looked dark as they stared, barely seeing, into the stars. She knew that this place was extremely hard on her partner, and she was desperate to get out of here; to free her from the prison of her past—literally. At the same time, she knew that was something only Adora could achieve for herself. 

But, she figured, she was already on the way, if her actions from earlier had meant anything. Adora had refused to do what her village had been expecting of her her whole life. If she continued in that same vein; if she could remain strong for herself and for Catra, she would soon be able to put this behind her for good—and not in the way the elders were expecting.

That would prove slightly more difficult from prison, though.

“Do you think it’s true?” Catra asked softly at length. When Adora gave a questioning hum, she elaborated, “That I’m her.”

Adora’s shoulder rose and fell beneath Catra’s pillowed head. “As true as it is that I’m Shira,” she replied darkly.

 _But you are Shira,_ Catra wanted to point out, but she figured that would not help lift the other girl’s mood. Instead she stayed silent and nuzzled closer under her partner’s chin, comforting with touch where she could not with words, as usual.

“With our luck, I wouldn’t be surprised if you’re the magic cat girl I’m supposed to kill,” Adora grumbled into Catra’s tangled hair, and Catra could not disagree with that. Since the start, it seemed powerful forces were intent on keeping them apart. First Catra’s own vices, then Rong Stonefist, then Amon, and now the bloody spirits themselves.

Catra sighed and had no answer. Instead, a moment later, she switched tack, rasping, “You didn’t have to do it, you know,” into her partner’s shirt, barely audible. She knew that Adora understood what she meant. _You didn’t have to choose me._

“Yeah, I did,” Adora said softly back. Her first two fingers slipped beneath Catra’s tunic and began tracing idly over the skin of her back. Her touch was deliciously grounding, and this moment would have been perfect if they hadn’t been, you know, in jail. “I couldn’t protect you before. So I had to do better this time.”

Catra shivered under her touch and the weight of her words. “I told you, that wasn’t your fault.”

Adora hummed doubtfully, and Catra pushed up on her forearm to bring them eye to eye. “I’m serious, Adora.” When the other girl looked away, Catra placed a finger under her chin and turned her back. “You’re enough. Okay?”

Adora let out a shaky breath and her eyes shined moist with unshed tears. Catra wanted nothing more than to comfort her, but there was little else she could say. “Well I got us into this, so,” Adora whispered back self-deprecatingly, only half joking.

Catra furrowed her brow and opened her mouth, about to try to insist to Adora how _little_ responsibility she carried for this miserable shitshow, when—

“And I can get you out!” a chipper, familiar voice cut through the darkness from outside their cell.

Catra sat up instantly, whipping her head around to face the source of the voice. She knew exactly who it belonged to, and it was impossible for her to be here. “What the hell?” she snapped, wondering what kind of trick the bitter village hags were playing on them now.

But as Adora levered herself onto her elbows to peer in the same direction, an unmistakable figure emerged from the shadows on the other side of the cell door. “Razz?” Adora wondered disbelievingly. Indeed, the old woman’s stumpy silhouette was clear in the moonlight. “How did you get here?”

Razz chuckled and held up her hands. One held a twisted wooden staff. “Well, this is my home, of course, dearie!” she replied as if it were obvious.

“What? No it’s not!” Adora argued, voice sharp with impatience. Catra understood: they didn’t have time for Razz’s games right now. They wanted an explanation. “You live in Republic City! I would know; you sleep right across from me.”

“There is a difference between your home and the place you live, dearie. I think that if you look back on your time here, you will understand,” Razz replied wisely, motioning Adora forward toward the door. When the girl shuffled suspiciously closer on her knees, the old woman reached out between the bars and touched between her brows with one finger.

Catra was confused, but it looked as if a fog suddenly lifted from Adora's sky eyes. “You…I knew you before!” she exclaimed in shock. She raised a hand to her forehead and sank back on her haunches. “I met you on the spirit mountain, when I had just arrived. How could I not remember?”

Catra, concerned, came to crouch protectively behind Adora's shoulder. If Razz was messing with her head, she wouldn’t get away with it unscathed, whether she’d been friendly to them in the past or not.

Razz chuckled lightly. “The touch of a spirit can do strange things to your mind, Adora.”

Catra's eyes widened.

Adora's head whipped up. “You’re a _spirit?_ ”

“Hmm, did I say that?” Razz bumbled, tapping her chin absently though a humorous spark played in her dark eyes. It was obvious that she’d let that detail slip intentionally, and though it sounded crazy, if Catra was honest with herself it made a lot of sense.

“Oh my—“ Adora began to swear, but apparently thought better of saying _oh my spirits_ and quickly redirected, “I mean—holy shit,” as if that were any better.

Catra met Razz’s laughing eyes seriously. “I’ve got to say, I’m not really surprised.”

Razz inclined her head in fond acknowledgement. “You have come a long way, Māo Meili. I am proud of you,” she shared.

And—Catra hadn’t really been expecting that sort of praise from a crazy old lady/maybe actual spirit, but it caused a genuine bloom of warmth in her chest. She had always liked Razz, though sometimes her air of mystery and roundabout answers were frustrating. She had helped them many times, if indirectly, by providing a place for them to stay and sharing valuable supplies. She had helped them most, though, by coaxing them into each other’s orbits in the first place. Catra never would have known Adora like this without Razz. Razz had seemed to know that, even then, and now her inexplicable knowledge made much more sense. Catra was indebted to this old woman for every good thing in her life.

And now she was about to deepen her debt.

“Now, you must listen. I don’t have much time to explain,” Razz was saying lowly and urgently, gripping the bars of their cell door with her free hand. Short and stooped as she was, all the two girls had to do to be near her eye level was rise onto their knees.

That’s exactly what they did, and Adora leaned up against the bars to affirm, “We’re listening.”

Razz’s gaze had never looked more clear or intense. “You must still fulfill the prophecy, Adora, dearie.”

“No,” said the girl in question instantly. _Not you, too,_ Catra could almost hear her add. She gripped the bars in one whitening fist. “They want me to kill Catra.”

“Hmm, so they do,” Razz reflected, as if that were no more daunting than baking a berry pie. She tapped her wrinkled chin again. “But that is not what the prophecy calls for.”

Catra couldn’t see Adora's face from her position, but practically felt her brows furrowing in confusion. “What do you mean?” the sun-haired girl asked, a desperate edge to her voice. Catra moved closer behind her and laid a steadying hand on her back. Adora didn’t look over, but grasped Catra's other hand gratefully with her free one.

Razz smiled at them fondly. “The prophecy only says that the conflict between Shira and Māo Meili must be ended. Not _how_.” She raised a bony finger and indicated their joined hands. “Don’t you think that love is a much nicer ending?”

There was a stunned pause.

Then, “Are—are you serious?” Adora sounded like she was struggling to breathe, and her hand tightened on Catra's.

“The spirits are satisfied,” Razz affirmed sagely. “Your elders and your Light Hope do not understand this.” Then she gave a mirthful snort and shook her head. “How can they think Shira and Māo Meili have been _fighting_ in the spirit world this whole time? That would be so tiring!”

Adora was still struggling to grasp this new revelation, and Catra couldn’t blame her. She knew the feeling of having everything she knew turned on its head. “You mean…I _don’t_ have to fight Catra? I just have to love her?”

Catra's heart still skipped a beat at that word, but she admitted that it was _vastly_ preferable to death.

Razz gave Catra a knowing look and then laid her leathery hand over Adora’s on the bars, soothing. “You have made it so, dearie,” she said gently. Then she pulled on Adora’s hand and the cell bars with it, and the door swung easily open as if it had never been locked. Both girls’ jaws dropped.

 _Damn, why haven’t we gotten her help sooner?_ Catra wondered to herself, a little bitter.

“Because you didn’t need it, dearie. You have had each other,” Razz replied to her unspoken question, looking her right in the face with her piercing dark eyes, and Catra was so caught off guard she fell back onto her ass. Adora looked back at her with questioning eyes, and all the explanation Catra could give was to point shakily at Razz.

The old woman acted as if nothing strange had happened, even as she pulled their cell door wide open and stood aside to let them pass. “Go, Adora,” she ordered, pointing into the darkness of the stairway to the surface. “Fulfill your destiny.”

“But wait. What do I do with the sword?” Adora scrambled to her feet and stepped out of the cell, hesitantly, to face Razz, like the open door might be an illusion. It wasn’t.

“You will know when the time comes,” said Razz enigmatically. Then she turned away from them, facing down the hall that led deeper into the basement of the building. The silhouette of her bent back looked misty against the darkness. She spoke over her shoulder: “Goodbye, Shira. Māo Meili.”

“Wait,” pleaded Adora again, reaching a hand after her but stopping before it touched her wavering form. “Where are you going?”

Razz regarded her tenderly, and the depth of her expression made Catra wonder just how long this being had really known Adora. “I’m a guardian spirit, dearie. My purpose here was to guide you to your destiny, and I have fulfilled that purpose.”

“So we’re not going to see you again?” Catra cut in, that thought giving her an unexpected jolt of sorrow. She’d grown accustomed to having Razz around, having her looking out for them like the benevolent distant relative she’d never had. Without her… 

“Did I say that?” Razz asked innocently, slipping back into her ‘senile old woman’ act like a second skin.

Catra was torn between the urge to laugh or to cry. She reached down to grasp Adora's hand again, squeezing to comfort her. She knew, deep down, that this wouldn’t be the last time they saw their eccentric old guardian. And even if it was, she still had the sense that Razz would be watching over them, even if they couldn’t see her.

“‘Bye, Razz,” she said, feeling her eyes well with tears at the same time a smirk pulled at her lips. She’d go with both laughing and crying, then. “Thank you for everything.”

Adora tore her gaze away from Razz’s retreating back to give Catra an achingly questioning look, and Catra met her eyes steadily, feeling oddly centered. It was clear Razz was at peace, and so would she be. Even if Adora didn’t understand yet, she would.

“Goodbye, dearies,” bode Razz’s voice from the darkness, echoing as if across a much greater distance, and when the two girls looked after her, she was gone. Catra knew that if they were to follow her down the hall, they wouldn’t find a trace.

“Razz? Wait!” called Adora, stepping forward to do so, still desperate for more guidance, but Catra tightened her grip and held her back. Adora rounded on her in something akin to panic. “We have to go after her. I still don’t know what to do.”

“Adora,” soothed Catra, stepping close to take the taller girl’s face in her hands. “Listen. She said you would know what to do when the time comes. She’s watched over us this long; I think you can trust her.”

“But—”

“Shh.” Catra ran her hands over Adora's cheeks as those blue-gray eyes shined with confused tears. “Razz has done her part. She’ll be okay. And so will we.”

“I just don’t understand. She’s leaving when I need her most!” Adora insisted.

“No, Adora,” Catra argued gently. “She said it herself. We don’t need her now, because we have each other.”

“But—” Adora began to protest again, but Catra could see deep in her blue-gray pools that she understood, on some level. She just didn’t want to accept it. She didn’t want to step out from under Razz’s supernatural protection just when things were nearing their fateful conclusion. And Catra knew the feeling, but at the same time she was perfectly content in knowing that even if Catra and Adora didn’t have Razz, they had each other.

Adora's shoulders drained of their tension, and as she slumped forward into Catra's embrace, Catra supported her wholeheartedly.

“Now all of that stuff she did makes sense,” Adora mumbled into Catra's shoulder as she leaned into her arms. “I just can’t believe I forgot that I knew her. I met her on the spirit mountain where Shira first received the sword. I knew what she was the whole time, but I forgot.” She drew back just enough to press a hand to her forehead, eyes distant and anxious, like she was wondering what else had slipped her mind.

But this wasn’t a simple slip of the mind. “It wasn’t your fault,” said Catra, reaching up to gently pull her hand away. Adora still didn’t meet her gaze. “She obviously messed with your memories so that things would work out the way they did. Spirit powers and all that.”

“But what if I—” Adora looked distressed, a line forming between her brows. “What if she—what if she made me forget something important?”

“She’s on our side, Adora. I don’t think she would do something like that.”

Adora still did not look wholly mollified. “Yeah. You’re right,” she murmured anyway, raising her worried eyes from the floor. Adora look around at their surroundings seemed to make her remember the pressing matter at hand: escape. “Anyway. I guess if Razz’s purpose is fulfilled, then we’ve done what we were…meant to do. For the prophecy.” Her eyes dropped to Catra's lips for a telling second, and Catra could see her throat jump in a dry swallow. Maybe that fateful little word was scaring her, too. _Love._ “Now it’s just a matter of convincing the village.”

Catra balked at that last part. “What’s the point?” she demanded. The village had thrown them in jail, hadn’t they? They obviously didn’t want anything but a bloodbath. Catra took Adora by the biceps intently. “Let’s just get out of here, Adora. You said yourself that your mentor won’t help us now.”

“No. I can’t,” Adora argued, turning her face away but not pulling free, like she still wasn’t sure. “I feel like I have to…finish this, somehow. It’s weighed on my shoulders for almost my whole life. I want to put it to rest.”

Catra stepped into her line of sight again. “But you still don’t know how to do that,” she repeated Adora’s words from just moments ago, hoping within herself that they were no longer true.

Adora met her eyes with steely blue-gray irises and then turned, peering out the narrow window in the top of the cell in the direction they knew the shrine stood. In this light, her eyes and hair looked the same blue and gold as the Sword.

“I think I do.”

… 

  
  


“Adora.” Catra jogged to keep up with Adora's brisk, purposeful pace toward the sword shrine. When her companion didn’t answer, simply kept her steely gaze fixed on that protruding golden hilt, Catra tried again: “Adora, care to share what you’re doing?”

“I’m finishing this,” Adora said without breaking her stride.

“Yeah, but how? What did you think of?”

“Catra.” Abruptly, Adora stopped and faced her. She seemed taller, somehow; more intimidating. “Trust me.”

Catra swallowed, momentarily caught off guard, and Adora prepared to turn away. But before she could start walking again, Catra caught her arm and captured her gaze with raw intensity. “I do.”

Adora simply looked at her for a moment, eyes brimming with some unknown emotion in the moonlight, dead silent. Then her breath came out in a shaky sigh, and she bent to press her brow lovingly to Catra's for a second before straightening again and resuming her course.

As she marched toward the sword, back straight and ponytail catching the moonlight, Catra thought she had never looked more powerful. She had never carried this air of complete, transcendent purpose, even all those times she’d entered the fighting ring as a different form of Shira. Even when she fought off the chi blockers to try to save Catra. Even when she _had_ saved Catra from Zhen’s goons the day just past.

This was Shira, but not the one Zhen wanted.

This was Catra’s Shira.

This was Adora’s Shira.

They were almost to the shrine when the porch doors of Light Hope’s house banged open, and a voice shattered the midnight quiet.

“Adora, wait!”

It was so desperate it was hardly recognizable as her mentor’s voice. Catra doubted she had ever shown that much emotion before. 

It was ineffective. Adora did not stop. She didn’t even look back.

“This is not what you have trained for,” Light Hope pleaded. Catra turned and noticed her silhouette framed in the moonlight, tall and thin as one of the runed pillars of her house. Lonely.

Her own heart was beginning to pick up and her ears to ring as Adora neared the sword and destiny rushed toward them full-speed.

A foil to its inevitability, Light Hope took off from her porch, racing to intercept them at a dead sprint, though there was no way she would make it in time.

“Adora!” she shouted again. Her voice echoed around the courtyard and reached the surrounding houses, and a few lights came on in windows. A few doors cracked open to reveal curious faces. One such door was the entrance of the elders’ council hall, and Zhen’s voice joined in to split the air as she realized what was happening,

“No!”

Adora was at the pedestal.

She reached out for the sword, and though Catra knew she did not exaggerate the motion, it seemed to take place in slow motion. The staticky buzz that had assaulted her ears before was now deafening.

A look backward showed that Light Hope was halfway across the courtyard. She would not make it in time. Her voice was drowned out by the buzz.

Adora's hand closed round the Sword of Protection’s golden hilt.

A flash lit up the night, blinding everyone who watched.

While Catra threw her arms over her face and screwed her eyes shut against the sudden golden glow, she heard that incessant static go suddenly quiet, and in the crushing silence that followed, the hiss of the sword leaving its stone moorings was perfectly clear.

The glow faded but did not die, and as Catra's eyes recovered from the shock, she got her first look at the true Shira.

Adora stood more than a foot taller than her regular height. Her skin was so radiant that it appeared the golden glow was coming from _within_ her, and the sword reflected its light, scattering it in a brilliant rainbow beam. Her hair was free of its ponytail and shining like the sun, and her eyes were a shade to match the sky—not the stormy overcast of her regular gaze, but bright, midday blue. She looked around the clearing, and everyone who landed beneath that gaze cowered away. Even Light Hope stopped in her tracks.

Then Shira’s eyes fell on Catra, and something strange happened—Catra began to glow, too.

She felt it as a warmth beneath her skin, beginning in her chest and flooding outward until she could _feel_ the light pouring from her every pore, powerful but not uncomfortable. She looked up to meet Shira’s otherworldly gaze, but her attention was drawn up to the atmosphere above Adora’s towering head.

There, the shade of a woman stood, translucent and rippling against the backdrop of the sky. Her face was unfamiliar, but her hair was the same sunny hue as Adora’s, and in her hand was a perfect copy of the glinting Sword of Protection. _The first Shira,_ Catra realized, feeling her jaw drop with awe. She never in a million years would have ever expected to see something like _this._

She tried to catch a glimpse of the spirit projection’s eyes, but the real Shira’s gaze was not fixed on Catra, but on something above her own head.

Catra craned her neck back and her heart missed a beat.

There, in the air above her, was the figure of a second ethereal woman. This one was brown-skinned, crowned with a pair of feline ears and a graceful tail, and the luminosity around her was not gold but warm blue. The hue matched her right eye, which was the same cerulean as Catra's own, while the other reflected the same color as Shira’s hair. _Her eyes, which glow like sky and sun._

This was Māo Meili, the cat spirit of the ancient prophecy. This was _Catra._

As she watched, the two woman faced each other silently. She feared they would fight, and Razz would be proved wrong, and her life would end on the point of a sword wielded by the girl she loved, but Shira and Māo Meili did not launch into battle.

Instead, they reached across the distance between them and joined hands, and where the edges of their radiance met, a rainbow sheen rippled against the night sky.

Then they turned, and their impossibly wise eyes landed on the two girls who carried their legacy into the next life. In unison, they nodded.

Adora and Catra faced one another and their eyes locked, and understanding flowed through them like a physical force. They reached for each other at the same time and clasped hands to echo the motion of the women of the prophecy. If possible, the place where their skin met flared even warmer than the molten light already surrounding them, and it felt like the whole world shifted into sudden focus.

 _I love you,_ thought all four of them at once: Adora, Shira, Catra, and Māo Meili, and the echo of those words bounced between Catra's ears louder and louder until it was all she knew. And yet, still, it felt like perfection.

At the peak of the crescendo, the echo suddenly broke, and its pieces realigned into a new declaration, louder than all the rest:

_It is done._

Adora's hand left Catra's, and she gripped the sword in both hands and turned toward the pedestal. The apparition of Shira copied her motion, raising her own Sword of Protection into the air over her head. The buzz and the words and the cacophony of the fight of two lifetimes rushing toward its end drowned out all other awareness. As one, they brought the sword down.

It struck the stone pedestal with the strength of a spirit and a warrior goddess, and it shattered.

A final, blinding rainbow flash accompanied the explosion.

When it faded, with it went the shapes of Shira and Māo Meili in the sky above the two girls.

The rest of the pedestal crumbled in its wake. Adora, back in her regular form, fell to her knees beside it in exhaustion, and Catra ran to her side. The naked hilt of the sword dropped from Adora's hand to the rubble, now dull.

In the silence and darkness that followed, the village reeled. Not even the wind dared make a noise.

But it couldn’t last.

Light Hope was the first to recover. She paced shakily toward where the two girls knelt by the ruined shrine and stopped a safe distance away. “You have failed,” she declared, voice wavering just as badly as her stance. “You were trained for the singular purpose of destroying Māo Meili and saving our village from danger, but without the sword, that’s impossible.”

“For the last time, Catra is not a danger to you!” Adora cried, spinning to her feet among the remains of the sword. “She and I; we’re—” She broke off, the realization still almost too powerful to touch. “We’re…” Then she turned to face Catra, who stood slowly to meet her, and everything seemed to fade into the background as what just happened fully dawned on her for the first time. “We’re in love,” she said with absolute certainty. “That’s the end to the prophecy. That’s the end of their conflict. That’s it.” 

“This is not supposed to happen,” Light Hope tried to protest, but her composure was failing. She knew she had lost. “I am not prepared for this outcome. What about all of your training?”

Adora looked at her with something that was almost sympathy. “It taught me a lot, Light Hope, but…it was for the wrong reason.”

Zhen, the only other person to brave the scene after Light Hope, had hobbled across to join the useless tirade and now put it, “You cannot simply turn against your destiny like this! You must fulfill your purpose.”

Adora turned on her. “Don’t you get it? I _have._ This was my purpose! It’s fulfilled! It’s over now. There’s no more spiritual feud. There’s no more danger.”

“It’s not that simple!”

“But it is! Look at the sword.” Adora gestured, and both women cringed at the sight of the shattered weapon. “Do you still expect me to kill someone with that?”

“I expect you to honor the time and effort that I poured into your training as a child, Adora. I was the one who raised you in place of your mother,” Light Hope held out weakly.

“Don’t bring my mother into this!” Adora shouted sharply, making everyone jump, including Catra. Then she composed herself and reasoned more calmly, “I know you loved her, and I did too. And she would understand my choice.”

Light Hope appeared struck by that; so much so that she turned her back on the girl she’d been responsible for for so long. “Maybe you are right,” she conceded, and for a moment Catra thought that she may see the light, but then she continued: “but I cannot.” 

“Hope,” Adora addressed her.

Light Hope flinched at the appeal to her real name; her connection to a brighter past. She kept her face turned away and shook her head. “I cannot help you on your way to the South Pole.” She didn’t even turn back to deliver the most heartfelt thing she’d ever said to her pupil: “I’m sorry, Adora.”

Adora was silent at first. She stood tall and looked around at the village, at the people who had raised her—the people who had ultimately failed to be the family that she’d always needed. Then she looked down at Catra, the family she had _found,_ and reached out to wrap her arm around her. When she looked back at Light Hope and gave her reply, her voice was sad, but sure. Regretful, not because of what she’d done to her village, but what her village hadn’t done for her.

“Yeah. Me too.”

…

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> "that was too easy!" you say. "mhm yes correct but the girls must have their gay happiness," I reply. catch me projecting about the ending I want in s5
> 
> as y'all know, there's one more chapter after this, but it's just going to be an epilogue sort of deal. it purposely leaves things a tiny bit ambiguous but it's a happy ending as promised. 
> 
> thank you all for sticking with this fic to the end! the support and response has been wonderful and I appreciate every one of y'all. and you know I've got to plug the rest of my work so if you're hungry for more Catradora content, go check it out!


	17. Chapter 17

Catra and Adora leaned against the railing of the cargo ship together, facing the salt breeze gusting from the South Pole. The aching cold of the arctic air bit at their skin, but it was a welcome relief from the grueling heat of hefting boxes for hours on end. They were on break from their work now, having agreed to join the cargo crew in exchange for passage to the Southern Water Tribe. They were not yet close enough to spot the snowy outcroppings of the city, but Catra could feel in her growing excitement that they were getting close.

“So I guess we’re staying, huh?” she said to Adora over the whistle of the wind.

“Until further notice,” her partner agreed. She smoothed back the strands of hair the breeze had pulled free from her ponytail and shrugged. “It will be okay. My mother’s family comes from the Water Tribe. They’ll welcome us.”

Eyebrows shooting up, Catra faced her on the railing. “That explains those pretty blue eyes of yours,” she observed with a chuckle of surprise. _ And the Water Tribe dreamcatcher back at the village. _ She bumped Adora playfully with her shoulder. “I learn something new about you every day, huh?”

Adora grinned and it was bright as the sun on the ice caps off the bow. “Well, I can’t just spill everything at once. That wouldn’t be very exciting.”

“It has been a pretty exciting ride with you, princess,” Catra murmured, sobering as she inched closer to her companion, letting her eyes go half lidded.

As soon as she moved in Adora got the message and closed the rest of the distance between them, but at first she just brushed their noses together sweetly. “Things will calm down soon, Catra,” she whispered. “We’re almost there.” Then she tilted her head, and Catra went up on her toes to meet her in a kiss. It was brief, but her head still spun as they broke away. “You won’t miss Republic City too much, will you?” the sun-haired girl asked, and she didn’t sound like she was altogether teasing.

“Are you kidding?” Catra scoffed. Even though they’d talked about this before, Adora still had her lingering fears. “I’ll be thrilled to knock the dirt of that place off me once and for all,” she assured. “The only thing there that doesn’t suck is the pro-bending.”

Adora laughed lightly and stole another quick kiss. “Well, you met me there, too,” she reminded playfully.

Catra hummed her agreement and let her eyes slip closed contentedly as she leaned back against the railing. “Yeah, I guess you don’t suck too bad either, Adora.”

“That’s the nicest thing you’ve ever said to me.”

“Really?” Catra opened her eyes again and lifted her brows. Even if Adora meant to be teasing, if she was right (which wasn’t that inconceivable), it would truly be a sad fact. Just in case, Catra turned to face her partner again, letting a little smirk curl her lips. “Well, I’d better fix that right away, princess. Come here.” She raised her arms and Adora stepped in so she could wrap them around her shoulders and pull her behind a tall cargo cube for more privacy. Once in the shadow of the cube, Catra drew her in for another kiss, this one longer and deeper and more heartfelt than the last. Adora's hands landed on her hips and pulled her closer, and they lost themselves in each other so completely that it was a shock when they had to break apart for air. When they did, Catra slid one hand to the back of Adora's neck and began toying with the wispy gold hairs there, looking fondly into her partner’s eyes.

“I love you, Adora.”

For all the times that phrase had stuck in her throat and suffocated her and refused to come out, now it left her lips as easily as a breath. She never thought she’d end up like this: free of má, free of her bending but free of the fetters of her emotional prison, too. Adora, as well, was different from the first day they’d met. She had a few more scars, sure, but she’d also gained a surety and an effortless aura of power; of stability, that was a stark contrast to the anxious girl she’d spotted in the noodle shop. It seemed both a surprise and a perfectly natural outcome for them to find themselves here, sailing together into the unknown yet comfortable with figuring it out together; intertwined.

Adora's breath shuddered out of her like Catra's confession was a physical blow. She eased her head down to rest her brow against Catra's and wrapped her arms around her body tight and the grin that split her face was the brightest Catra had ever seen. “I love you, too,” she whispered, running her hands over Catra's form reverently as if making sure she was real. “What changed?”

And, Catra knew what she was asking. She knew that Adora had sensed the times she almost acknowledged her feelings in the past and lost her nerve, and she knew that it must have been hurtful as well as frustrating. It was fair for Adora to want to know what was different about this time, but when Catra turned her gaze inward to ask herself the same question, she didn’t have a good answer, really. All she could come up with was,

“I did.”

And, in a way, that was the only answer that she could give. That was the only explanation for the transformation she had undergone since meeting this mysterious spirit-marked girl. That was her only excuse for the time it had taken for her to finally admit her feelings to Adora, and though it was a simple answer, it was enough.

Adora's smile didn’t fade until she leaned down again and caught Catra's lips with her own; tender, profound, and everything Catra had always wanted.

_ This is perfect,  _ Catra thought through the haze of her absolute contentment in this moment.  _ This is something I’ll live for.  _ Adora  _ is something I’ll live for.  _

_ We’ll be okay, together. _

And the way her partner broke away to gaze back at her with those shining blue-gray eyes, Catra knew she felt the same.

… 

THE END

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I think it's time y'all knew the inspiration behind this fic.  
> I was on a trip. I saw a factory. I thought "Catra in a factory uniform would be hot." that's it.  
> Thank you again to all of my readers and I hope you've enjoyed the trip! I don't have plans for any spinoffs or continuations of this one, but I've got some other catradora fics in the works as usual. see you on the next one!  
> & good luck with s5, folks!


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